My every instinct was to laugh in his face and turn away, but that was not how John Martin, scholar and poet, would act. I climbed in and sat. When Richard sat and beat on the roof, the carriage moved forward.
I spoke first. “Sir, before you speak, allow me to assure you that my intentions toward Miss Clark are entirely honorable.” Richard grunted again. “It is my most earnest desire to make her my wife, and I had every intention of seeking your consent to our marriage.”
“My consent? My consent, that’s rich. Where were your honorable intentions when you accompanied her, unchaperoned, on morning rides? What have you to say to that?”
“Only that you are correct, I should not have done so the one time that it happened, but I mean to make it right. I humbly ask your consent to my marriage with your ward.” There, I had said it, though it cost me dearly.
Richard crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at me. “Too little, too late.” His voice dropped to a low, menacing tone, “You will stay away from my ward, or else I shall be forced to move her from your sphere.”
“I do not understand you,” I said but his meaning was clear.
Richard sneered, angled against his corner of the carriage to stare at me. “You have forced my hand, and it is to you the blame will fall when she is torn from a life of pleasure. I shall send her deep into the country until either she is of age, or until I find a worthy partner for her.”
“You would do that?” I asked as I willed my body to keep from throttling the beast beside me.
“With ease,” Richard replied with a satisfied smirk.
I silently counted to ten to keep my murderous feelings inside. “I understand you, sir. You have done me the honor of being frank. Now allow me to be the same. My mother loves her children; our happiness is her first priority. If you withhold your consent then I must withhold my own. You will have, as you say, forced my hand.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“A poet only threatens through verse.” The carriage stopped before my house. “Thank you for the ride, it has been most instructive.” I opened the door, stepped from the carriage and walked into my house, not waiting to see if Richard followed. I walked into my library, slammed the door shut, and grabbed the nearest object, a book lying on the table, and hurled it. The sound of it crashing against the wall did nothing to stop my body from shaking.
“John!”
Slowly, looking to my right, Bess and Andrew Madison were standing beside the window. My anger blinded me to their presence until that moment.
“I do apologize. I did not see you there,” I said blandly.
Bess was worried, but Andrew looked curious. He could remain curious, for I would not enlighten him.
“Are you all right?” Bess asked then frowned.
Ignoring Bess’s question I nodded to Andrew before motioning for them to sit. “Where is Mother?”
“She stepped to the drawing room for a moment,” Bess said with a hint of a blush touching her cheeks.
Andrew stayed for another fifteen minutes, conversing easily with Bess. She liked him a great deal, if the look on her face as she listened to him speak was any indication.
When Andrew was gone Bess said, “Tell me what has happened to make you behave the way that you did. You frightened me. I have not seen that side of you in many years.”
Before I had a chance to speak, the door opened and my mother walked in.
“I hear that you have been seeing Richard’s ward against his wishes.” Not looking at either of them, I shrugged. “Jack, Miss Clark is not for you. Richard believes that you would not suit, and we must expect him to know his ward.”
“The man keeps secrets from you, lying to you, and yet you take his side against me.”
Mother stepped back, her jaw slack and her eyes round.
“Jack,” Bess said with a warning in her voice.
I wanted to tell her all, but I refrained. “I apologize. My feelings upon the subject are raw.”
Mother knelt before me, holding my hands in hers. “My love, you have time before you need to think about marriage. Do me this one favor and leave Richard’s ward be.” Mother was adamant. She did not want me to see Guinevere again. But, it was more than that. She was afraid, both of Richard and what losing him meant. She could not afford to anger him.
***
Four days passed without sight of Guinevere. Not from a lack of trying, but from a sly move by her guardian. Guinevere and Richard had left Philadelphia.
From what I could learn from my mother and Martha, Guinevere would be returning, but neither knew when. I was outraged, with both Richard and myself. I should have struck him down when I had the chance.
Pacing my library like a caged animal, my thoughts were in a tormenting spiral. I did not know what Richard had told her about me, but I could only hope that she would know that when she returned I would still be of the same mind.
When I threw myself into a chair, determined to read a book, a knock fell upon the front door. I rose to close my library door, not wanting to see any of Bess’s suitors, when I halted.
General Harvey walked toward me leaning slightly on a wooden cane. He had been wounded in 1813 while serving in Baltimore. Shrapnel in the leg. He had never fully recovered and walked with a limp, but his wound never dampened his spirit. He was forever gracious and jolly with anyone around him.
I shook the general’s hand then motioned for him to be seated. “I am honored, sir, that you have called upon me.”
General Harvey leaned his cane against his chair as he spoke. “You may not feel so after you hear what I’ve come to say.” I watched him intently. “I heard talk that young Madison has become particular in his attentions to your sister, and I would not feel right, knowing your father as I did, if I held my peace and did not warn you against such an alliance.”
Of all the words that he could have said, speaking against Andrew Madison was definitely the last that I expected.
“William was a good man and a good friend.” The general’s eyes looked past me as if he were remembering something from days gone by. “Miss Martin deserves the best; a man who will care for her well-being, not only her lovely face and the connections she brings.”
“You feel that Andrew Madison does not mount up to that description?” I asked, feeling skeptical about his motives.
He grunted. “Let us say that she deserves someone who will love her more than he loves himself, and you may be sure that Madison is not that man. His political ambitions alone should be enough to deter you from considering him.”
So far I had heard nothing against Andrew that I found disconcerting, or that could constitute the general’s visit.
As if he could read my thoughts, he replied, “Miss Martin will inherit a vast sum upon her marriage. Money like that could certainly help out a politically minded young man.”
“Are you saying that he is a fortune hunter?” I asked, doing nothing to keep the incredulity from my voice.
“That’s the right of it. He may care for Miss Martin, but as her brother, surely you wish more for her than a shallow marriage to an equally shallow man.”
Staring at General Harvey, I was unsure if I should believe what he said. I could not shake the thought that the man had ulterior motives behind his visit. Edith came to mind, and the general’s motives became clear. If I refused my permission to Andrew’s suit, the general could then swoop in offering up Edith as a substitute. The connections that Andrew would bring to a marriage could cause even a friendly man like General Harvey to do his utmost in eliminating rivals, like fabricating a list of faults. I found myself thoroughly torn, for I liked the general, and he had long been a family friend.
The general used his cane to help him stand. “Think about what I have said, John. Sometimes appearances can be deceiving.”
I thanked the general as I followed him to the door. After he had left, I went to the drawing room and pulled open the curtains fully, then went into my library and
closed those curtains. It was a code for Levi to come at once. When Levi passed the house, he would see the code and enter through the servants’ entrance. I sat at my desk and wrote out a letter while I waited for him to arrive. He did so three hours later. I closed my library door and had him sit.
“Fenrir will be taking your place watching the white phantom. There is something else for you to do. The instructions are written in this letter. Follow the one listed and report everything. From where he goes to whom he talks to. I want to know it all.”
Levi nodded as he looked over the contents of the letter. When he looked up he was frowning. “Feelings growing strong between Raven and the president’s nephew, eh?”
Feeling stretched beyond my limit, I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. “Let us say that I want to know more before I consider allowing him into the family.”
Chapter 21
Bess
30 June 1816
We received our first word on George early on Sunday morning. It came in a letter that was hand delivered to the house by a young boy who said it had been misdirected. Jack and I were at breakfast when Arnaud brought it in. It was from one of our informants in New York, and he said that he had found George alive and well.
Jack exhaled loudly as he read over my shoulder. Our informant assured us that he would see to it that George made it back safely, once the snow melted. I should have been relieved, as Jack was, but I could not release the suspicion that all was not as it appeared.
Every week since returning home from Washington, one of my agents had gone out searching for George, but to no avail, and then we hear that he was in New York. It did not work together in my mind. How did he get to New York?
George Crawford had led the Charleston Phantoms, a team in South Carolina until my father’s death. George had then thought it his duty to move to Philadelphia to ‘oversee’ my new leadership.
George was one of the more boisterous against my being the leader instead of Jack. He did not believe as my father had, and he never failed to let me know of his disapproval if I failed in a mission. I appreciated George and his care of my mother after my father’s passing, but there were times that I wished he had stayed in Charleston.
When Jack left the house to go for a ride, I ran up the stairs and into my chamber. Mariah was there, and when I told her what I wanted, she dug through my wardrobe until she found the black dress that I had worn to my father’s memorial service. Concealed under the skirt were my work clothes. Mariah had sown buttons onto the waistband of my breeches and the inner collar of my shirt and then she buttoned them into holes that she had made under the dress. It was inventive, and no one would ever guess that my drab black gown contained the clothes that I wore when working the job that my father created.
Mariah helped me wrap my chest to make it as flat as a man’s; then I dressed as Mariah opened my trunk and removed the fake backing to reveal three pistols, two daggers, and our masks. After pulling on my black breeches and black shirt, I handed her my wig which she placed inside the trunk. I pulled on my boots and tucked two pistols into holsters on my belt and a knife in each of my boots.
Something occurred to me that I had been remiss upon, so while Mariah locked my trunk, I asked, “Have you and Jericho set a date?”
Mariah’s hand stalled on the lock, then she slowly rose, and there was a faint blush on her smooth cheeks. A lock of her dark hair fell across her face, so she tucked it timidly behind her ear. “Yes.”
I threw my arms around her. She laughed as she returned my embrace.
“I am taking you shopping this week. You must be married in a new gown.”
“That is not necessary, Bess,” she said softly, and that was why I adored her. She was possibly the loveliest girl I had ever laid eyes on, but her beauty did not affect her. She used it to her advantage on certain missions, but in our everyday life, she was sweet and soft spoken.
“I know, but two of my dearest friends—my family—are to wed. It is the least that I can do.” I turned away to tie my short hair back with a black ribbon and tucked it neatly under my hat. I picked up my mask and walked to the door, but paused before going out. “Do cover for me, should Jack return before I do.”
Mariah sighed in a long-suffering manner, but her light blue eyes agreed.
***
George had two houses, one on Pine Street and one in the country. As he only used his country house in the summer months, I went to his two story house on Pine Street. It was Sunday, which meant that it was his servants’ half day. His butler, cook, and manservant knew about our work, but like our own servants, they owed a debt of gratitude to George for one thing or another, and would never speak a word against us.
My cheeks and forehead were covered in soot to disguise the softness of my skin since I had not wanted to take the time to paste on facial hair.
As I stepped up to George’s front door, I turned the door knob; it was unlocked. First obstacle completed.
Inside the house, all was quiet, and though the curtains had been thrown open to allow in light, there were no fires lit, nor did it seem that there had been since George disappeared for the house was unusually cold. I put on my mask as I tread over to his study. I had been in his house many times, so there was no nervousness in my step.
The study was a square room with bookshelves on one wall and a desk near the other. First, I checked where he kept important documents behind some of the books on one of his two bookshelves. They were still there. His desk was locked, but I knew where he kept the key. Fetching it from behind a portrait of George Washington, I unlocked the first drawer. I was uncertain why, but I pulled out his account book. When I reached the most recent entries, I could only stare, dumbfounded.
George had made some staggering deposit entries the day before he was taken. Closing the book, I found a stack of correspondence; all opened—letters from clients, letters from his agents both here and in Charleston. There were also reports from his nephew that required a mask to reveal the true message.
Communications exchanged between agents were a critical part of the Phantoms, but sending the information in a letter was not safe, so we had ways to relay the secret messages by many different techniques. Masking was one way—a cutout paper that could be any shape. Every leader wrote to fill a certain mask. The leader of the Charleston Phantoms always wrote messages that fit into an hourglass shaped paper.
I looked for the mask to put over the letters, but it was not in the book where George usually hid it. Placing the letters back in the desk, I searched the remaining drawers, but found nothing to help me discover why he had been taken or who had given him the money.
A crash sounded on the floor above me, and I nearly knocked over George’s desk chair in my surprise.
The room directly above the study was George’s bedchamber. I told myself that it was one of the servants, but that did not stop the rapid beating of my heart. What if it wasn’t? I pulled one of my pistols from the holster as I left the study. Gripping my pistol, I started up the stairs. Halfway up, one of the stairs creaked under me, and I winced, but no one charged out to attack me. When I reached the bed chamber door which was closed, no noise came from inside the room. Something deep within my mind told me not to open that door, but I had learned to ignore that voice. If I listened to every inner warning, I would never achieve anything.
With my pistol steady, I turned the knob and pushed open the door. Immediately, I saw what had caused the crash. A vase had fallen from the desk where George’s orange cat was sitting. My breath whooshed out in a small relieved laugh as I leaned against the door knob.
A strong hand suddenly wrapped around my wrist, and I was unceremoniously thrown toward the bed. I hit it hard, tumbled across the surface, and landed on the other side as the door shut with an ominous click. I scrambled to my knees and found myself looking at a masked man.
Thick, curly, brown hair tumbled around his head falling to the nape of his neck, but it was the plain bl
ack mask over his eyes that sent a mixture of alarm and disbelief skipping through me like a pebble thrown across water. Was he trying to imitate the Phantoms? He was doing a mighty poor job of it.
His head tilted to the side as his eyes slid over my face. Then to my astonishment, he opened his mouth and laughed. I did not like the sound, though there was nothing wrong with it. It was strong and pleasant. But my nerves were near to frayed, and I did not have time to deal with an imitator who had broken into George’s house. Then there was the question of why he was in George’s house. My gun was lying on the bed, and my eyes flicked to it.
“No,” he said, but I was all ready going for it.
He leapt across the bed as my hand touched the handle. His weight landed on my arm, and I cried out. He wrenched the gun from my grasp and tucked it into the back of his breeches as he stood. I whipped out my second pistol. He dropped instantly to the floor on the other side of the bed, completely out of view. I jumped to my feet and started to climb over the bed, when my ankle was captured. He was under the bed!
He pulled hard, and I flew backward, my backside smacking on the hard wood floor. Pain vibrated through me, but I only had a second to think about it before my other ankle was caught, and I was pulled under the bed. I dropped my pistol in an attempt to catch hold of the bed frame, but he was stronger. He pulled me all the way under and through the other side and sat on my stomach. I groaned as a puff of air left me under his weight. What he failed to do was capture my arms, so I threw one good punch against his jaw. His jaw was covered with a short beard running from over his top lip down along his narrow jaw. He was a handsome man, curse him.
“That’s not polite,” he said through clenched but perfect teeth as he caught my wrists.
He stood and pulled me up with him. Once I was on my feet, all that separated us were my hands that he held between us. I had to tilt my head a little to look into his eyes, which were a light bluish gray. Everything within me stilled as I stared into their depths that looked as if they knew no bounds. His eyes were like two perfect thunderclouds with gray strikes of lightning dancing around the iris.
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