“Tell us, Guinevere, from where do you hail?”
“Boston originally, but when my family died, and I was left in the care of my guardian, I moved to Baltimore and then here.”
She had my deepest compassion, for I knew what it was like to lose a parent.
My father had not been an easy man to understand. Hardly anything I ever did met with his approval. When Jack and I went to work in Baltimore, and our father remained in Philadelphia, I was relieved, even if there was a war going on. Jack and I grew closer, and for the first time in my life, I felt like someone appreciated my efforts. We were no longer walking in my father’s shadow but making shadows of our own. I pulled my thoughts away from my father when Guinevere said words that surprised and amused me.
“Shall we have that race, Bess? Across the field to those trees?”
“Ladies do not participate in horse races.” Disapproval laced Edith’s words.
“You need not participate. You may stay here and watch, but I shall race. On my count.” Guinevere counted to three, then her chestnut took off across the field, and after only a second, Edith urged her horse to follow.
Jack looked at me, warning in his voice. “Bess, do not win that race.”
My grin was surely incorrigible as I pressed into my dapple grey. He did not have the speed of Pegasus, but he was strong. The cold wind whipped against my face and tugged at my hat, but it was secured by many pins. With each rise and fall of the horse, I felt freedom––from restraint, from the weights pressing against my shoulders. It was glorious.
We reached mid field, when a flash of blue from off to my right caught my eye. As I glanced over, another rider charged across the field from the trees. I did not take the time to look at the rider’s face as I pushed into my horse, determined not to lose to three racers. I passed Edith easily enough, but was behind as Guinevere noticed the rider and urged her horse faster. Guinevere’s chestnut and the other rider’s white horse charged along at a breakneck pace. I knew I would not win the race, so I pulled my horse to a trot and watched, a twinge of envy settling in my chest.
My cover depended upon my acting the lady at all times when not at work but how I would have loved to best them. I found myself mentally cheering for Guinevere.
The two riders were side by side until at the last moment when the new rider eased up, and Guinevere’s horse reached the trees first. I wondered if Guinevere knew it. I rode to the trees and pulled up my horse ready to congratulate Guinevere, but all words stuck in my throat as I recognized the new rider. Hannah Lamont.
“Elizabeth, I am surprised to see you participating in such sport, no matter how inexperienced your performance.”
Pasting on a smile, I spoke with a sweetness belying my true feelings, “It would have been fruitless to try harder. Guinevere clearly holds the advantage.”
Hannah’s eyes narrowed. If looks could kill, I would be laid dead upon the ground. I would have come back to haunt her so it was better for her that her venomous looks could only amuse. Hannah turned her attention to Jack as he rode up, but Jack was staring at Guinevere’s flushed face with appreciation and awe. His whole face was softened and unguarded for a moment, but it was long enough for warnings to ring in my head. I had never seen Jack look so...besotted.
Hannah moved her mount next to Jack, blocking his view of Guinevere. She smiled and batted her eyes at him as she tried to engage him in a flirtation.
“What nerve,” huffed Edith, low enough that Hannah could not hear.
I thought about reassuring Guinevere, but decided against it. To offer the woman any help would give the impression that I approved of Guinevere’s obvious feelings for Jack, which was something I was not ready to do. It would take a special woman to win my approval, and even though she was like the woman I would have chosen for him, I did not think her Jack’s equal.
Guinevere stared at Jack a moment longer before pulling her eyes away. She shrugged a shoulder, and my estimation of her rose. “We must see what we can do to put her in her place, mustn’t we.”
I laughed, thinking to myself that the odious Hannah Lamont may have met her match.
Hannah joined us as we rode back to town, staying at Jack’s side and flirting shamelessly. Even when Jack started speaking about Reverend Gideon Reid’s church and sermons Hannah would not move from his side.
We delivered Edith home first, then rode on to Guinevere’s house. When we reached it, Hannah looked at Guinevere. “Oh, have we arrived so soon? And here I have monopolized all dear Mr. Martin’s time.”
Jack dismounted and helped Guinevere from her saddle. She looked up at Hannah. “No matter. I am sure we will have ample time to speak over dinner this evening. Good day, Mrs. Lamont. Until this evening, Mr. and Miss Martin.” Guinevere’s groom took her horse away as Jack remounted, and we rode with Hannah to her house. She tried to wheedle an invitation to dinner, but Jack and I both refused to comply. When we reached her house, we bid her good day and rode away without a second glance.
“Did you know Guinevere was coming to dinner?” I asked Jack as we rode toward home.
“No, but I am not surprised. Mother told me she had invited the Harvey's, so you may be sure she wanted an even number at her table.”
When we arrived home, it was as Jack had said. Since Richard was dining with friends, mama had invited Guinevere.
“She will be in my charge when Richard and I marry, so it is only right that we all become better acquainted.”
From the smile hovering on Jack’s lips he agreed wholeheartedly.
***
When Andrew and Mr. Monroe arrived, I was surprised speechless. In the light of the candles, Andrew Madison deprived me of breath, and at the same moment, filled me with nervousness. He was not precisely handsome, not in the common way; his nose had a bump as if it had been broken, and there was a sternness to his face, but there was also something striking about the contrast of his strong jaw and the softness in his green eyes.
At dinner, my mother had placed me between Andrew and Mr. Monroe. When I asked Andrew about his aunt, telling him all of the good that I had heard about her, he was thrilled.
It was well known that Mrs. Dolley Madison had been in Washington during the war when the British took the city. She and a faithful servant loaded a cart with valuables, including her husband’s documents, and departed the city before the British army set ablaze the President’s house. She escaped the city and capture.
“She is a treasure and a great credit to my uncle. It is the wish of any politician, or man for that matter, to have a wife who is not only a suitable hostess, but a woman of courage and kindness who will understand and uphold her husband’s aspirations and dreams.”
“Here, here,” Jack said enthusiastically from his place beside Guinevere.
“Like your mother,” Andrew added, raising his glass toward Mother.
When dinner was ended, and the men joined us in the drawing room, Mr. Monroe drew me a little apart from the rest as General Harvey regaled everyone with his war stories.
Mr. Monroe’s voice lowered so that only I could hear him. “I understand that George has gone to visit his nephew.”
“So I have been lead to believe, sir.”
He smiled as if I said something witty. “Do you know when he means to return?”
“Any day now, I am sure.” Mr. Monroe smiled again and patted my hand. It was what he wanted to hear. Even though I knew he meant the questions that he had asked, I also knew what he had not asked. He knew George was missing, and he knew that I and my team were searching for him. I considered telling him about my suspicions that the black carriage had been after him, but I held them in. Mr. Monroe had enough to consider without adding my own misgivings. I and my team would see to it that he was not disturbed again in such a way.
When my father formed the Phantoms, he had met with three men, an attorney, a soldier, and a politician. The politician was James Monroe. He knew about us and kept our secret without becoming
involved, since our spy ring was not sanctioned by the government.
When we rejoined the others, Jack and Guinevere were sitting together, speaking in low voices to each other, Edith was speaking with my mother, so I had Andrew to myself.
“Might I ask you something, Mr. Madison?”
“Anything you please.”
“Would you tell me about your family? To come from a large family must be exciting.”
Andrew launched into his family history. He was the second of six children, and he was twenty-four, and as much as he adored his family home, he believed that his future was in politics.
Any question that I asked he answered, looking upon me with appreciation and approval. He watched me so intently that I knew he was committing everything I said to memory. In turn, I studied his every look; I listened for the sincerity of his words, and I watched where his eyes focused when he spoke. Everything had its own meaning to me. My work as a Phantom had taught me how to tell between lies and sincerity merely by the tone of the voice and the focus of the eyes.
He spoke of many different people and was pleased when I said I knew them. It occurred to me that there was a connection between the people. They were all politicians. Andrew Madison was looking for a wife and having the right connections was a necessity. He was good; I would grant him that. If I had been any other female of my social set, I would never have caught on to his way of questioning. Then realization dawned. My heart stuttered. I sucked in a short breath, and I stared. Andrew Madison, the nephew of the President, was looking to me as a possible candidate for his future wife. I do not know if I made another coherent reply for the remainder of our visit.
When he rose to take his leave with Mr. Monroe, he asked me if I would grant him the first two dances at a party Richard was to hold for Guinevere. I agreed, and the smile he flashed made my insides tumble. He had a pair of dimples that surely came from the angels.
What would it be like to spend a lifetime being the recipient of that smile?
I was fairly certain it would be heavenly as the Lord intended when he made Andrew Madison.
After all our guests had departed, my mother came over to me and laid a hand on my forehead.
“Are you coming down with something, my dear?”
“Of course not. You know that I cannot abide being ill,” I said as I pushed her hand away.
“I believe that my sister has a touch of love at first sight.”
Mama smiled. “Of course. He is charming and so handsome.”
“He is more than that,” Jack said, holding up a letter.
Excitement and interest sparked together. “Are those his credentials? Do, pray, let me see them.”
My mother shook her head, her face scrunching in disapproval. “My dears, one does not fall in love with credentials. It is the heart that one falls in love with.”
Jack’s resources knew no bounds. The paper was full of everything from a list of Andrew’s parents and siblings to Andrew’s years at school and his grades. Even his monetary value was there. I continued reading, about what Andrew had done after leaving college, a description of the house he was having built, and the size of his property; then spoke without looking up.
“Now that I have read this, I do declare that I am in love. His heart is pure gold.”
“Remember, my dears, credentials are not enough to build a lasting relationship upon,” Mama said before sweeping from the room.
I handed the letter to Jack, leaned back and sighed. I may have only just met Andrew Madison, but what I knew of him made me want to know more—everything—his likes and dislikes, his aspirations and dreams. To discover if he was someone I could trust with my heart, and more importantly, my secret.
Chapter 14
Bess
10 June 1816
With Andrew Madison showing interest in me, enough that he had called on me every day for the past six days, I began considering what I wanted for my life. There were times I wondered if I was broken—if my father did some psychological damage to my brain when I was a child.
My father began our training when I was seven, and we still lived in England; I just did not know what he was training us for. I was being trained to fight with a sword, to shoot a pistol, to hit with my fists. As I grew older and learned that only men participated in such sports, I thought my father the greatest man ever to live, that he would want his daughter to be the equal of men. After we moved to America and he assembled his team of children, Jack and I helped him to train them in the same arts. Then the real lessons began.
While most young ladies of means were learning how to stitch samplers, speak French, play upon the pianoforte or sing, I was learning how to manipulate grown men with my words, how to know when someone was lying by the look in their eyes, how to pick pockets without being detected, and even how to hold my liquor without getting sick. That one was not a memory I relished.
Never in my life was I so frightened as when my father took me out for my first mission. It was the night of my thirteenth birthday. We had been training to be spies for nigh on a year, and I thought my father was taking me out for a reprieve—a celebration. When he pulled up our wagon in the nearby town and pointed at the tavern telling me what I was to do, my trust in my father faltered. He left me at the door to the tavern, saying he would return in two hours and expected me to have accomplished my task. Then he drove away without looking back.
Being that I was a headstrong child, I was determined to do my task and get away from the tavern long before the two hours were over. I went to the back of the building and entered through the kitchen. No one cared that an unknown girl was walking through the kitchen. I found my target, a smuggler captain, who was across the smoke filled taproom. I stayed out of sight for the men in the room were a disreputable lot. When the smuggler captain rose from his table and stumbled toward the staircase, I saw my chance and followed him up. I went to the door of the room he had gone into, and when I opened the door, he was lying on a small bed. The stench of unwashed bodies and something much worse was rife. I was trembling from head to foot, but forced my feet to take me into the room in silent movements. His eyes were closed, the even rise and fall of his chest soon told that he was asleep. I reached my hand toward his coat, my fingers shaking, my heart beating painfully fast, biting so hard on my lip that I tasted blood. My fingers touched the envelope that was sticking out of his inside pocket and started to pull it toward me.
His hand wrapped around my wrist as his eyes popped fully open. I was startled into immobility as my back hit the bed, and he landed on top of me. It happened within one blink of my eyes and the next. The only part of me that felt like it worked were my eyes that would blink, but not close. They burned as hot tears slowly fell down the sides of my face. I did not know what was about to happen, but I knew it would forever change me.
As soon as his rough hands started trying to rip my dress, I turned frantic. He was not holding my hands down, so I raked my nails down his face, jerking from side to side to find a way to get him off of me. He was saying things that I could not hear, for the blood pumping in my ears. He was momentarily diverted by the blood coming from the scratches on his face, so I used those seconds to focus my mind. I was my father’s daughter; I could find a way out. My mother’s trembling hands when she dressed my hair suddenly made sense, but also what she placed in my hair.
He was trying to rip my bodice again, so I reached up and grabbed the ruby encrusted silver hair dagger. He was leaning on his knees, reaching his hand down to his trousers and not looking at me when I stabbed him between his shoulders. I do not clearly remember what happened after that, only fragments of his screams, my bloodstained hands, the bloody envelope, and a girl my own age hiding me in her room and helping me out the window. I ran the two miles to our house in the woods.
When I walked in with my ripped bodice and my hands stained with blood, my father was seated in his favorite chair—his fingertips together and a pleased smile on his face. I remem
ber my mother’s cries from the corner of the room, but I ignored her. I held the letter out to my father. He took it, looking like I was handing him a sack of gold. I curtseyed then climbed into the loft that was mine and Jack’s bedchamber. I did not wash my hands or change my gown. I lay upon my cot as the events came rushing upon me. Staring at a notch in the ceiling, I realized what I had done. I had survived.
I never told anyone what happened. None of the others would have believed me if I had. The other children worshiped my father. To them, he was a savior who had rescued them and provided them with a place to live, food, clothing, a name. I decided that night while I lay on my small cot that never again would I feel helpless.
After that night, I threw myself into training. I was determined to become the master of any situation that I entered. My father would be my leader, but never again would he be my papa.
The other children never spoke of their first missions either, but they were each successful.
Leo was the only one not trained by my father. When he joined our team, the Phantoms had been working for three years, and he came in knowing everything we did. He rarely spoke of his life before the Phantoms.
When I excelled in everything that my father threw at me, he announced that I would one day take his place. The other deputies were all masters of something, but I was the one most determined to thrive in everything. I never told them that it was not a matter of thriving, but surviving. I did not want to be the leader, but I accepted without comment because I knew that one day I could get out. I could escape the life forced upon me. With my plans in place, all I had to do was wait.
I was fourteen when my father announced that I would marry Ben. I was furious, but Ben was thrilled. Ben and his older brother had been with us since the beginning.
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