Secrets In Savannah (Phantom Knights)

by Amalie Vantana

  Mrs. Stanton was looking me over critically, and when her lips pursed as if she had eaten something sour, Jack looked as if he would like to choke Dudley’s mother. I may not have looked my best to Mrs. Stanton, but all of us were journey worn, and had just been through a fight besides.

  “Who are Miss Clark’s people?” Mrs. Stanton asked haughtily, her gaze moving away from me toward Jack as if I was not good enough to speak to. I bit my cheek to restrain from saying something that would put us in an even greater predicament.

  “She was the ward of Richard Hamilton, my mother’s former betrothed.”

  “Ah, yes, I heard about his unfortunate demise. Expired in a carriage accident, did he not? Well, respectable enough I suppose, but what are you doing marrying so young? There is much to explore yet,” she said as if I were not standing beside Jack.

  “So there is,” I said, reaching out toward Jack. He took my hand without a hitch, smiling quizzically at me. “We mean to explore it together, living each day for each other. Is that not so, my love?”

  “Just so, darling. I could not have said it better myself,” Jack told me with an appreciating smile.

  Mrs. Stanton grumbled something unintelligible before engaging Hannah and Andrew in conversation, and ignoring Jack and me.

  Dudley asked us where we were to live, where the wedding took place, and why we came to Savannah, of all places, for our honeymoon.

  “We were married privately last week, we will reside in Charleston to be close to my mother and sister, and we have come to Savannah on family business,” Jack explained.

  Dudley made some reply, but it was lost on me when his mother said, “Yes, a party. I insist. It is the least I can do for dear Nell’s son.”

  Drat the woman! We did not have time for festivities.

  Mrs. Stanton looked between Dudley and Jack. “Mrs. Lamont and I have agreed that Dudley and I shall host a party for you and your bride. Tuesday evening should be sufficient time to invite all of the elegant company this town has to offer.” Mrs. Stanton then added Andrew into the invitation by demanding that he bring his bride-to-be. Once she had badgered an acceptance from Andrew, she turned her animal-like eyes on me.

  “Oh dear, are you accustomed to parties of high society? We would not wish to embarrass you,” she said in a way that made me believe that was just what she meant to do. The woman had nerve.

  Smiling sweetly, I replied, “We could not think of imposing upon your generosity in such a way.”

  “I insist,” the dragon countered.

  “Then we accept.” The woman needed a lesson, one which I was only too obliged to give. “Oh, I may just burst with excitement. Come, Jack. We must away to the house at once so that I can sew something together suitable for a high society jollification. Until Tuesday.” I waved three fingers, and we turned and walked toward the house.

  Jack’s head was shaking as he laughed. “You, my wife, are a fortress that cannot be overthrown.”

  My smile felt tight as we stopped outside his mother’s house. “As long as you remember that.”

  “You forget one thing, my love. For me, you already opened the gate. I am inside the walls, and there is no being rid of me now.”

  Andrew came toward us to bid us farewell, extending us an invitation to attend his wedding on Thursday. This Andrew Madison was not like the one in Philadelphia. This one had a haggard appearance compared to the paragon who had swept into the city. That man had not approved of Jack paying court to me; this one looked genuinely happy for us. As we watched him depart, I mentioned how sad Andrew appeared.

  “Regret will do that to a man,” Jack replied before sweeping me with him into the house.

  A stout woman with white hair stared at us from inside the foyer. As her eyes rested on Jack, they widened in horror. “Sir!”

  Jack’s back tightened through his coat as he greeted the woman. “Good day, Mrs. Short.”

  “That is not her name,” I whispered against his ear and he tossed me a smile before looking back at the shocked little woman.

  “I have brought my new bride here for a few weeks.”

  Her eyes widened even more. “But, sir, the house, it is not prepared for guests. It has not been cleaned. Where will you sleep?”

  His arm tightened around my waist, but I was glancing around the house that had belonged to Richard. I knew that he had left all of his holdings to Nell Martin, for I had instigated it.

  When I had acted the part of his ward, I knew that his days were limited. With my orders to destroy his branch of Levitas, I knew that he would either perish in the fight, or end up in some horrid prison. One evening when he had much to drink, I spoke to him about his family. He had only distant relations. I suggested that he make a new will so that his detestable cousins would not inherit his holdings. He liked that idea, so the following morning he called in his attorney and set things in order. Nell had inherited an import business as well as a number of ships, three houses, and more pairs of high heeled shoes than any man should ever wear.

  “I believe there are bedchambers aplenty and we do not mind the house in its current state. It will give Mrs. Martin something to do, or I should say something else to do.”

  “Jack,” I hissed in his ear.

  “Jack, what are you about?” Leo called up to him when Jack had me pulled halfway up the staircase.

  “Do not stand between a man and his bride, Leo,” Jack called down to him as we reached the hall.

  Jack opened the first door he reached, pulled me inside, then kicked the door closed behind us.

  The room was dark with the only light coming in through the crack between the shutters. There were white cloths covering several pieces of furniture including a bed.

  Grabbing a fistful of white cloth, it slipped from the top of the canopy and fluttered to the floor revealing an elegantly carved wooden bed. The spindles were carved into vines with wood roses.

  Jack pushed open the shutters on one of the windows so light could stream into the chamber.

  When he turned to me, a grin was tugging up his lips.

  “Whatever you are thinking, do not,” I said at once. “We are not truly married which means that all of this,” I gestured with a swish of my hand encompassing the bed, “is forbidden.”

  He sauntered toward me, and I leapt away from the bed.

  “I am in earnest, Jack!”

  Laughing and appearing happier than he had been since before Lucas Marx shot him, he said, “It shall be as you wish, my love, but only until we are married, then it will be my turn to make the rules.”

  With a sigh that could be construed as resignation or contentment, I had not decided which, I moved around the room pulling off covers from furniture. “What is the next step that we should take?”

  “A parson would be preferable.”

  I frowned, and he gave in.

  “We will search for George and the guards, and I know where to begin. Dress in your hunting clothing, darling, and I will take you to hunt for a fox.”

  CHAPTER 10

  JACK

  George and my father had first met in Savannah when my father was searching for men to join him in forming the Phantoms. At that time, George had a plantation in Charleston. The house in Savannah had belonged to his parents, so he went there when he needed some time to himself.

  Guinevere and I set out on a walk to Washington Square where I knew George’s house to be.

  She was dressed in breeches, but never could she be thought a man. Her cheeks were too soft; her skin too perfect. Her hair was tucked in her hat, and when I told her she could never pass as a man, she stopped.

  As she searched the ground around us, I was unsure what she was about, until she picked up a clump of dirt. She rubbed some on her nose and cheek then tossed it aside.

  “People do not look too close if you do not initiate contact. Life is hard, and there are many other things to occupy the mind. No one would look twice at a person dressed as I am,” she said as
she resumed walking.

  “That is untrue. I would always notice you.”

  She cast me a sweet smile. “Yes, but the difference is that you have been trained to see everything.”

  We stopped before a two story brick house that was like every other house in the square, nothing grand or glorious about it. The shutters were closed, and the knocker was off the door, but that did not deter us. We went to the door, pounding for the servant I knew George employed.

  When there was no answer, I stepped away from the door. “I am going to see if I can get in through the servants door. Stay here, I will be but a moment.”

  “I am going with you,” said Guinevere at once.

  “No, I will be—”

  “I am going, Jack.” She stood waiting, uncompromising, and as stubborn as always.

  I eyed her for a moment, trying to think of a way to deny her, but I knew that she would follow me regardless. There was a narrow gap between George’s house and his neighbor’s house. Usually a door could be found if houses were not built upon their neighbor’s as houses had been in Philadelphia.

  At the back door, I stepped up to it, pulling out a black pin from my coat pocket. The door lock was an aged one that looked as if it had not been changed in the last eight years.

  In our training, we had learned how to pick almost any locks in under a minute. Leo was the quickest, but Bess would say she was almost as swift. I allowed her to believe that, though to be sure I was second to Leo.

  When I got the door unlocked, for the lock and handle nearly fell off into my hands, I rose to open the door.

  “Good work,” Guinevere said as she moved past me. “You were nearly as swift as I am with locks.”

  All was silent, and the door led to a staircase. There was a light shining underneath the door at the bottom, and there was a smell of something burning. Guinevere fairly ran down the stairs then paused at the door just long enough to pull her dagger pistol from her belt. I reached her as she twisted the doorknob and stepped into the room, ready to do battle.

  All we found was a kitchen with an aged man sitting on a chair, his head resting on a worn wooden table. The stone hearth had a small fire burning, and an iron pot was hanging over it, the contents of the pot boiling over into the fire. There was an empty bottle before the man and a lantern sitting on the table, but no other person was in the room.

  Guinevere advanced into the room, searching for any sign or door that could lead to George or her sister as I checked the old man.

  “Drunk as a wheelbarrow,” I told her before searching for something to take the pot off the fire.

  “I will search above stairs.” Guinevere snatched the lantern off the table and turned for the door.

  “Wait!” She was half way up the staircase at the end of a small and damp hallway by the time I reached it. She opened a door at the top of the stairs and disappeared from my view as I went up quickly.

  My heart felt heavy, like a loaded cannon, and Guinevere was the torch. Her heedless ways were going to make me do something drastic.

  As I entered the main part of the house, I moved to the parlor where all of the furniture was draped in holland covers. The house had a deserted feeling to it as if it had not been used in many years. George was not keeping Guinevere’s sister in the house, but Guinevere was not giving up hope. She was upstairs, throwing doors open and shouting her sister’s name.

  “No one is here, Guinevere,” I called out and the sound of banging doors ceased.

  Her disappointment was evident as she came down the stairs.

  “Sturges would not be drunk if George were here.”

  “I take it that you know the drunk below stairs?” she asked as she took in our surroundings.

  My smile felt rather grim. “I know him and his presence here says much.” She watched me with raised brows. “He is a useful man to have around when George has things that he does not want his regular servants to know about.”

  She wanted to question Sturges, so we went back to the kitchen, but nothing we did would rouse him. When she grabbed an iron pan to beat him awake, I knew it was time to remove her from the premises. We left the house after blowing out the lantern and leaving the drunk to his sleep.

  She stomped along the street, kicking rocks out of her path.

  “Guinevere.”

  She did not acknowledge me.

  “Would you not rather go back to Charleston and allow me to finish this for you?” She halted but did not turn. “You know that I could do it, and Sam and Bess would protect you. I do not want harm to come to you.”

  “I am not leaving you, Jack, and that leads me to something I must say.” She took my hand and pulled me to a path between two houses where we could speak without being overheard.

  I had once told her that my world had changed when I met her, and never had truer words been spoken. She meant more to me than words could express, and that meant that I had to protect her, even if she fought me.

  Taking a deep breath that was labored, she said, “Jack, when we hear of my uncle’s arrival it is imperative that you show me indifference.”

  “No.”

  “What?” she asked, looking at me like I was a little daft. “What do you mean, no?”

  “Just what I said. I will not change what I feel because some ghost or goblin from your past is about to resurrect itself. I am rather looking forward to facing this ghost and giving him a piece of my mind and my pistol.”

  “Jack,” her voice came out in an anguished whisper, “you do not know what you are saying, or what we face.”

  As I laid my hand on her shoulder, she closed her eyes. “It does not matter what it is, together we can conquer it.”

  Shaking her head, she gripped the front of my coat in her fists, staring into my eyes. “No. It is too dangerous, and I will not risk your life again, not when I can keep you safe.”

  One of my hands covered hers, and my thumb brushed across her knuckles. It was endearing that she wanted to keep me safe. I did not fault her for her misguided assumption that she had to protect me. After what happened on our wedding day, I understood her need.

  “My love, you do not have to protect me.”

  “Yes, Jack,” she said, shoving my hand away, “I do because you are too reckless to heed what I am telling you. You do not know him; you do not know what he is capable of.”

  “No, but I know what you and I are capable of. We are going to see your uncle brought to justice, this I promise you.”

  She wanted to believe me, but I saw that she did not. “My uncle will be bringing many men who will shoot first and never look back.”

  “Then it is fortunate that I know some excellent fighters,” I said, but she looked as if she wanted to shake me. It was not that I was taking this lightly. I did understand, but I was trying to calm her. “We should choose a date to be married, Guinevere.”

  She shook her head.

  “You can deny all you want, but in the end, you will become my wife, and it will be my right to protect you for the rest of your life.”

  “Why do you insist upon this when you know that it is impossible with what we face?” she asked in a voice full of exasperation.

  I reached forward and tugged up on the gold chain that she wore around her neck. My ring, the one I had bought for her because it reminded me of her eyes, was there, worn close to her heart.

  “You are the best part of my heart, and without you I am lost.”

  She put up no more protests, and we went back to Warren Square to find Hannah and Leo partaking of a light meal in the dining parlor. While Guinevere ran up to change her clothing, I explained about our mission and what we had found.

  “What is our next step? Wait until we hear word?” Leo asked.

  “I thought we might ride out to my mother’s plantation on the morrow,” I told him, and he nodded his approval.

  “Would George be hiding there?” Hannah asked with interest as she stabbed a piece of fruit.

  “
No. I want Guinevere to see it, and I thought it would be best to call upon my mother’s steward before he comes here in search of me.” For as soon as Mrs. Short told her brother that I was here, he would search me out.

  “Aye, when word spreads that you have taken a wife all of them will descend upon you with their well wishes,” Leo said, understanding what I needed to protect.

  “I am not Mrs. Martin yet,” Guinevere said as she came into the room.

  “Not yet, my dear, but you are well on your way.”

  òòò

  Hannah, Leo, Guinevere, and I set out mid-morning on horses that Leo had procured somewhere in the city. I had presented Guinevere with a lovely horse that was much like her stallion from when she had chased me in Washington. There was a secret smile on her face as she acquainted herself with the horse.

  Guinevere and I rode ahead of Leo and Hannah as I told her about my family’s rice plantation. It was small compared to the thousands of acres of land that made up plantations. My father never had much interest in the keeping of the land, leaving the running of the estate to his steward, but I had loved it here. When not in training, I had followed the steward around, learning all I could about the land. It had been six years since I had last been in Savannah, but my mother made an annual trip to see the plantation and her holdings.

  We were nearing the lane to my plantation when we came upon a man whose horse had thrown a shoe. He was a finely dressed man, and his horse looked to be from good stock. A neighboring plantation owner or steward I would guess.

  “Good day to ye,” he called out to us as we halted our progress. “Might ye be from these parts an’ can tell me where I can find a smithy?”

  Not a neighbor then, but a gentleman. “You may follow us down this lane here to my plantation where we have a forge,” I said. When last I was here, ours was the nearest forge unless he wanted to lead the horse back into Savannah.

  “This here lane?” He looked down it, shielding his eyes against the sun. “Aye.” He let out a whistle.