Phantoms In Philadelphia

by Amalie Vantana

  As I led her into the set, I assured her that I would not tread upon her feet. She laughed. Her voice was like a melodious song. She reminded me of a bird; a beautiful, rare bird that if not handled with extreme care, would suddenly fly away, never to return.

  “Is it true that you always carry a book of sonnets?”

  I smiled, for without their knowing, my friends had done much to aid me by talking to her of me. I laid a hand on my chest where my pocket was within my coat. “It is true, for one never knows when one may be called upon to render a verse.”

  Her smile turned mocking. “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind?”

  So she knew poetry, did she? Before I could make a reply she added, “Do you believe that for truth?”

  “Truth is a matter of perception, with each man believing his perception is the only way,” I replied simply and honestly before I reflected how my words would be taken. As we separated in the dance, I watched her brows crease. I wanted to kick myself for stepping out of my role of a poet and speaking my true thoughts. There was something about the woman that made me want to be honest, and that in itself was a danger.

  When we came back together in the dance, I was ready to speak a verse to her about her beauty, but she spoke first.

  “Is that woman a relation of yours?”

  As my eyes moved in the direction Miss Clark was looking, Bess was watching us intently. I smiled at Bess, and she smirked in return. “Yes, that is my sister Elizabeth. I know that she will want to meet you. I shall present you if you have no objections.”

  “None,” Miss Clark replied before moving away again.

  When the dance ended, I did not have the opportunity to make an introduction, as Richard came upon us.

  “John, I was hoping to find you. Would you accompany me to the library? A group of my friends are there and desire to meet my future son.” He spoke the words as if all of Philadelphia were privileged to the truth. As I glanced around, I realized that they were. My mother had some explaining to do. I turned to Miss Clark, excusing myself, but I had little qualms over leaving her as she was pounced upon the moment I stepped away.

  My library was opened, as a place where men could gather. When Richard and I entered the room it was full of older men, most of whom I was acquainted, but Richard did not know that.

  Richard began the introductions with a tall man who had his back to me. When he turned, I clenched my hands at my sides as my first impulse was to strike. Miss Clark’s attacker stared me down with as much hostility in his eyes as I was feeling in my body.

  “John, allow me to present Nicholas Mansfield.”

  For a moment, I stared up at the man in incredulity. I had half expected the man who accosted Miss Clark to be some poor tradesman, but no, he was not only a man of some means but the possible leader of Levitas. More than ever, I wanted to pull out my small pocket pistol and rid the world of the scum.

  “My dear Nicholas, what happened to your jaw?” Richard asked.

  Nicholas’s jaw was swollen and an ugly mixture of purple and black. I bit back my smile.

  “I tripped over an upturned rug striking my chin on a table.”

  “You must pay heed to those upturned rugs; you never know from whence they will spring,” I said, then moved on with Richard, turning away from Nicholas’s menacing stare.

  Richard started to introduce the next man, but I stopped him.

  “The General and I are well acquainted.”

  As I shook General Harvey’s hand, Richard turned away giving me a chance to speak alone with the long-time family friend. “What think you of that one?”

  The general’s bushy eyebrows rose pointedly, and the silver whiskers on his cheeks twitched as his eyes took in Richard. “A fine match. Your mother has done well for herself.”

  General Harvey’s opinion meant much to me since he had been a close friend of my father’s. My father had always spoken of the general with pride; something that William Martin did not make a habit of with other people. Only three men ever made my father gush with pride. General Harvey, George Washington, and Benjamin Franklin.

  I did not make a reply. I had sent to Baltimore for more news of Richard, and the contents of the reply would form my decision for me.

  A six-inch scar on the general’s left cheek, only partially covered by his full gray and white beard, captured my attention. It was an old war wound, and for some reason, I could not help but glance at it every time he was near. Looking away I listened as the general said he would be hosting a party for his niece, Edith, Bess’s dearest friend, and expected us to be present.

  Once Richard introduced me to the last of his friends, I moved to lean against the wall as most of the seats in the room were filled.

  Nicholas greeted different men, making his way about the room, when something caught my eye. As he greeted a man named Charles Knowlton, Nicholas stood with his right foot pointed straight ahead, but his left foot was behind and to the left. When they shook hands his first and second fingers wrapped around Charles Knowlton’s wrist in the shape of a v. It would not have been suspicious to anyone else, but I knew he had ties to Levitas, and I had read about the v handshake in the Levitas book. It was code for a meeting.

  After Nicholas had sat in a chair near the fire, the conversation turned political. Mr. James Monroe was the hopeful to take President Madison’s place. Mr. Monroe was a kind, good man. He would make a fine president—in my opinion at least.

  I moved away to the window that looked out to the street. I wanted to listen without the men thinking I was listening. Most of them knew of my aversion to all things political, or at least that was what I made them believe. I was interested in the outcome of the election, especially since it would change the course of the Phantoms.

  When my father formed the Phantoms, Mr. Monroe was one of men who joined him. He was a silent founder and only a part, because of his political connections, but if he chose to disband the Phantoms when he took office, he would have the power to do so.

  Nicholas’s voice, excusing himself, brought my thoughts back to the room. Nicholas walked into the foyer and stopped to speak with someone out of my view, but I could see the copper colored skirt of her dress. Nicholas took a letter from her, inserted it into his inner coat pocket, and returned to the library. I turned back to the window. Intriguing.

  When Nicholas was again in his seat, I went into the drawing room, arriving as another dance was concluding and intercepted Miss Clark. She agreed to dance with me again, much to the chagrin of a young man who must have been her next partner.

  While we danced, I mentioned her slighted partner, and she laughed.

  “They may think what they like, but I choose to dance with you. We have a common interest after all.”

  “Do we?” I asked, trying to think what it could be.

  “Yes, but I shall not tell you what it is. If you want to know, you must call upon me tomorrow.”

  “I shall be only too happy to oblige,” I replied, though I was a little taken aback at her forwardness in suggesting that I call upon her, but pleased nonetheless.

  When the dance was ended, I kept hold of her hand, placing it on my arm as I led her toward my sister. Bess was standing beside a young woman dressed in pink with golden hair like morning sunshine.

  We were but a few feet away, when a sultry voice spoke loudly, “So, John is Miss Clark’s next victim. She has had no fewer than ten since her arrival last month. I had thought better of him, than to be entrapped by such blatant beauty.” I stiffened, feeling hot, but my outrage was nothing in comparison to Miss Clark. Her eyes were narrowed, and her delightful mouth was set in a hard line.

  As Bess turned, I caught a flash of a copper-colored skirt. It was the same woman who had given Nicholas the letter.

  Chapter 7

  Bess

  Long before the party had begun, my mother had come to me with a list of eligible men, beginning with the richest and moving down to the unworthy. Mother
had ranked every young man of our acquaintance that I had met a few over the years with Jack. She expected me to memorize the list, and to grant only the wealthier men more than one dance. It had ruined my mood for the party before the first chords of music were ever struck. Ephraim Knowlton was at the top of the list, a pity since I detested Ephraim, and second was Dudley. If I had told her that I did not mean to marry any of the young men on her list, she would have had heart spasms.

  Since my dances with both Dudley and Ephraim were over, I agreed to dance with whoever asked me, regardless of their wealth and prospects.

  I had watched in curiosity the young woman from the Inn enter, but after witnessing Jack’s blunder by stopping in the middle of the dance, then going straight to the group that was surrounding her, I had a moment of discomfort. Jack was well-known in society to be considering entering holy orders. Watching him go to her and then dance with her, well, the effect that woman had on him was nothing short of alarming. Jack had never paid very much heed to women, at least not without a set purpose. When on a mission and the task called for it, he would spend time with women to discover what he needed to know, but that was all.

  “Would you, Miss Martin?” Dudley’s nasal voice spoke. I looked at him where he was seated in the chair beside mine.

  “I do apologize, Mr. Stanton, but would you mind repeating that?”

  He was not affronted. “I was asking you for the pleasure of the next dance.”

  Oh. I remembered during our first dance of the evening that I had never liked dancing with Dudley. He would stare at me silently, or he would spout some horrible line of poetry or praise. He had a habit of praising my superior height, as if I wanted to be reminded that I stood above many of the men and women in the room.

  When my dearest friend entered, I excused myself to Dudley and went across the room to greet her.

  “Oh, how I have missed you. Promise that you shall not leave again for some time to come,” Edith Harvey exclaimed.

  We broke apart, though held hands as I looked down into her deep brown eyes and laughingly promised that I would be in Philadelphia for the present.

  Edith was fifteen years of age and a slip of a girl. She still had that little girl softness to her face. She was the niece of our family friend General Harvey and had been my friend for the past four years. Even though I was gone from Philadelphia during the war, we stayed in touch through letters. When I moved home three months ago, it was like we had never been separated. Now that we were both making our debuts in society, we would be spending most days together.

  Edith and I stepped away from the door as the music and dancing ended.

  “You must tell me all about your trip,” Edith said, and my mind started going through the story that I had rehearsed about what I had done in Washington and whom I had met. Lies; which made guilt nag at my mind. Another lie to add to the ever growing list. For me, it was the worst part of being a Phantom, never being allowed to tell the people closest to me the truth. But then, what would I tell her? Edith, dear, I can kill a man with my bare hands and have done so on one occasion.

  She would think I was mad and rightly so. Women of high society did not know the art of self defense. We were trained to be demure creatures, seen, but not heard, agreeable without being too forward, encouraging without speaking. When we finally snagged a husband, we were an accessory for his arm, but with no opinion contradictory to his. It was a bleak prospect for one who had lived as a man, traveling through the countryside without restraint. I did not know if I could do it, not to mention my fortune, the dowry that the men hunted me for and would go directly from the solicitor’s hands into his, never truly being my own.

  When I saw Jack start toward us leading the young woman from the Inn along with him, I started to smile, until I heard that hateful voice. “So, John is Miss Clark’s next victim. She has had no fewer than ten since her arrival last month. I had thought better of him, than to be entrapped by such blatant beauty.” I wanted to claw the speaker’s eyes out.

  Edith and I both turned to face Mrs. Hannah Lamont, a woman who was small in stature, mind, and morals. She was my age but had been widowed a year. I had met her first in Baltimore last year, where we had attended the same party. She was as disagreeable then. My gaze ran over her, and I was both disgusted and not surprised by her attire. Her copper-colored gown was cut too low, leaving little to the imagination, while her thick, black hair was pulled back with a few curls dangling across her bony, ivory shoulders.

  I forced a smile to my lips, though I wanted nothing more than to throw the woman from the house. I looked over my shoulder and saw Jack standing near, but it was the look on his companion’s face that brought words to my lips. Turning back to Hannah, I replied, “No indeed, for my brother knows true quality when he sees it.”

  Jack was speaking softly to Miss Clark as if to allay her chagrin over the unfortunate comment, so I hooked arms with Edith, and we walked out of the room.

  As soon as we were in the foyer, Edith spoke, “The nerve of that woman. She boils my blood.”

  “Why, Edith Harvey, I do declare that you have a violent nature. That sweet face masks a dark heart.”

  My words pulled a laugh from Edith. “I am not as interesting as that. Come. Let us taste some of those delicious cakes that your mother’s cook makes so well.”

  Edith led me into the dining parlor, and we went to the sideboard where all manner of small cakes and sweets were waiting to be selected. Leo entered with a tray of champagne, so I took two from him. I was raising my glass to my lips when Jack entered with his companion still upon his arm. I took a moment to appraise her person. She was wearing an ivory gown threaded with gold and gold slippers peeped from beneath the hem. It was her eyes though that set her apart; making her leaps and bounds above the rest of the young women. A truly rare color, and one that I would not have minded possessing. The perfect tone of her pale skin made me feel self conscious over the browned tone of my own. What was one to expect after hours of riding in the sun?

  “I was hoping you would bring your lovely partner to meet me,” I said as they neared.

  “My dear sister, allow me to present Miss Clark. Miss Clark, this is my sister Elizabeth and our dear friend Miss Harvey.”

  Miss Clark offered her hand, and I shook it. For such a small woman, she had a firm grip. She turned to Edith and hesitated a moment before offering her hand. I watched in some curiosity as Edith barely touched it then her eyes lowered to the floor. That was odd, even for sweet, quiet Edith.

  “I thought I recognized you as the young woman from the carriage when your brother came to my rescue.”

  “Yes, and quite surprised was I, but then, John has such a kind heart. He cannot abide to see others mistreated. He has written many a verse on the subject. You should let him read them to you sometime. They are rather good.” I cast Jack an innocent smile.

  “Thank you, sister,” Jack said, trying to end the subject. He knew I loathed poetry.

  “Perhaps, I shall, if he is ever so inclined,” Miss Clark replied, looking up at Jack like he was some mystical creature she found enchanting. I swallowed down a laugh along with my champagne.

  “I hear that you have only recently arrived in our fair city,” I said, appearing conversational, but I was interested because of my brother’s interest.

  “Yes, and I find it prodigiously to my liking.” Miss Clark bestowed a warm smile upon my brother.

  That woman was good. She knew how to draw a man in.

  Jack cast me a look that said he needed to speak with me.

  “Edith and I were about to enjoy some of this delicious food. Will you join us?”

  Miss Clark looked at Jack then agreed. Jack seated Miss Clark at the table with Edith, and he and I went to fill plates. With our backs to the others, Jack placed two fingers inside his jacket and with his forefinger he traced a N and then a M on the top of his coat. He pulled his fingers from inside his coat, spreading them wide, like in the shape o
f a note or letter then he intentionally slipped his fingers back into his coat. He tapped his chest over his heart. We had made many signs over the years, ways to speak without words. All of our deputies were well versed in the signs. If I understood his message, Nicholas Mansfield was here and had a letter in his pocket we would do well to acquire. The only setback was that I had never met Nicholas Mansfield. I did not, however, allow that to bother me.

  We were able to enjoy a half hour undisturbed before a man stalked into the room and his eyes fastened on Miss Clark. He looked familiar, and when he spoke, I remembered.

  “Miss Clark, I have come to beg the favor of a dance.”

  I glanced at Jack, who was staring grim-faced at his glass. He was turning the stem in his fingers, and I knew what he was thinking. He raised his eyes to mine, and I barely shook my head. The last thing we needed was for Jack to throw champagne on the man.

  “I do apologize, Mr. Mansfield, but this dance has been claimed by Mr. Martin.”

  So that is he.

  Miss Clark rose, and the rest of us followed her lead. She smiled at Jack, and even I could feel the heat from that look she cast him. “You do remember Mr. Martin, do you not?” She looked again at Nicholas, and I wanted to clap at so skilled a snub.

  “Indeed I do,” Nicholas replied, but Jack only smiled as he took Miss Clark’s hand, leading her away from us.

  Nicholas stared after them, presenting me my chance. I walked toward him then stumbled, catching his arm. He jerked toward me, his arms going about my waist. I pushed myself up straight, bumping the top of my head against his chin. As his chin jerked up, my hand slid into his coat, and two fingers grabbed the top of the letter. It was a trick that my father taught us. He would tie bells to our fingers then make us try to pick his pocket. If the bells rang, we failed. We practiced that until we could snatch anything, large or small, without his feeling a thing. I slid the letter out, crumpling it in my hand and then burying my hand in the folds of my dress.