Jack
4 June 1816
The musical that was being held at Madame Grelaud’s seminary was an opportunity for the young ladies attending the French school to socialize with members of high society. They also attended balls and other social parties upon occasion.
As I escorted Bess and my mother to a set of the chairs beside Edith and her uncle, there was a stir amongst the assembled company. Turning, I saw Mr. Monroe enter with his daughter Maria Hester. Maria Hester, a sweet eleven year old girl, saw Edith and Bess and said something to her father then walked toward them with the grace of someone twice her age. She smiled at me as she passed to go speak with my sister. Moving away from the chairs, I went to Mr. Monroe’s side.
“John,” he said as he held out his hand. I had to tilt my head to see his face.
“Good evening, sir. It is a pleasure to see you again.”
Many were crowding in trying to get to speak with Mr. Monroe. Since he was a kind man, he greeted those trying to edge their way in, but then he looked back down to me.
“You know Madison do you not, John?”
A young man appeared at Mr. Monroe’s elbow, and genuine excitement rose in me. I stuck out my hand. “Of course. Good to see you again, Andrew.”
The man was tall, six feet at the least with blond hair and green eyes. The ways women judged men were different from the way men judged their fellow men. Ask me if he was a capital rider, a skilled athlete, a knowledgeable scholar, or an unsavory character and I could tell you, but beyond that you would receive a blank stare. Not because I did not perceive more, but because society expected me, as a poet, to be ignorant.
“It is very good to see you again, John”
Andrew Madison was the nephew of President James Madison, hailing from Virginia, but spending much of his time now in the Capital with his uncle. Andrew’s eyes filled with interest as he looked at someone across the room.
“Is that she?” he whispered. When I followed his gaze I nodded, pride filling me. Yes, that was she.
The musicians who were playing softly at the front of the room struck a warning note, and I excused myself to go sit with my mother and sister. I had just sat down when Richard and Miss Clark entered and moved to the end of our row beside my mother. If I had known she was to be there...but no matter, I would speak with her at the interval.
Madam Grelaud welcomed everyone and then the musicians played. Music was very important in the school; all the young ladies playing at least one instrument. And, they could each speak French fluently. Their educations were so in depth that many newspapers frequently wrote articles praising Madame Grelaud and her teachers. If my father had been alive, no doubt he would have tried to convert some of the intelligent young ladies to our way of life. He was one of the few men in the world who did not discriminate against women due to their sex, often telling us that women were as able as men, more so in some cases. If they could learn to master their emotions, there was nothing that they could not be taught and nothing they could not accomplish. In the beginning, I was not sure how I felt about that, but now I agreed wholeheartedly. I was the better fighter, but Bess was the better spy.
When the interval came, which was a fifteen minute break for the musicians and for us all to be able to socialize, I moved immediately to Miss Clark. Richard had disappeared somewhere, and my mother had gone to speak with Mr. Monroe, so she was sitting alone. She smiled expectantly when I sat beside her.
Being so near to her, catching a whiff of her lavender scented skin, my disappointment came back full force. Earlier in the day, I had asked Richard about Miss Clark, I needed to know the name of the man to whom she was betrothed.
Alexander Robb. Relief had washed over me that I did not know him, so I would not have to cut any of my friends out of her affections. Not that I had any intention of doing so with Alexander Robb...yet. I wanted to check up on him, to make certain that Miss Clark was not contracting herself to a scoundrel. It was the least I could do, or so I kept telling myself, until I was seated beside her.
“I understand that I am to offer my felicitations.” She looked at me curiously, and I added, “Richard tells me that you are to be married to an Alexander Robb.” The words churned my stomach.
Color mounted her cheeks that had nothing to do with the stifling heat of the room. She turned to look fully in my eyes. “You must not take everything Richard says as truth. He has his plans, but so do I.”
It was an odd statement for a young woman to make about her guardian, but Miss Clark was forthright. “Then you are not betrothed?” I asked watching her face closely.
“I am not.”
Relief filled me, and I said the first thought that entered my mind. “The Heavens be praised.”
Bess and Edith were advancing toward us, looking determined to disrupt our tete-a-tete. Miss Clark leaned closer to me and whispered. “Would you care to ride out with me tomorrow morning?”
“More than anything in the world. What time?”
“Seven,” she whispered as Bess and Edith stopped before us.
“Do go away, John, we want to visit with Miss Clark,” Bess said.
Bowing, I left the ladies to their gossip. In the empty foyer, I stopped near the door to the front parlor and leaned my head against the wall. I knew that I should not be so excited; I should not care so much for a woman I had just met, but Miss Clark was different. Her candor, her vivacity, and even her willful spirit made up a woman who was quickly filling most of my thoughts and some of my dreams.
“It is accomplished,” a woman’s voice said from inside the parlor. My head snapped up, and I stepped closer to the half opened door.
“Well done, Ma belle,” Richard’s cool voice replied.
For a painful moment, I could not think or breathe. As my eyes slid closed all the descriptions came to mind and slowly, piece by piece, it all started to make sense. Ma belle was a woman of means, the description fit Hannah. She lived in Philadelphia, where at least three of the artifacts were to be found. My father was surely turning in his grave. No doubt the great William Martin would have known, and he would have chided me for my lack of perception.
“Nicholas is not here.”
“I am glad.” Hannah’s voice was dripping with disdain.
Richard laughed, and I cringed. I hated his laugh. It was like a trickle of water that refused to stop. “Here is your next mission.”
“What if I refuse?” Hannah asked. I thought I could hear a tremor in her voice.
“Be sure to stay for the encore. I believe you will find it entertaining.”
“What do you mean?” Hannah’s voice was a rasp.
Richard did not respond, but I heard him move so I darted away from the wall and went to find Bess. When I reached her, the musicians were beginning another set.
“We have a situation,” I said into Bess’s ear. Her eyes were alert, questioning.
We could not discuss it there nor could we leave in the middle of the musical. I had to force myself to sit still, but as soon as the musicians ended their last note I was on my feet. I went to the door and looked over the room. Richard was not present, which sent a whole new wave of foreboding through me. In the foyer Richard was coming through the front door. His smile and the look in his eyes were too calculating as he passed me. Outside, carriages lined each side of the street awaiting their owners, but there was one that I found suspicious. It was pulled by a team of black horses and the man holding the reins was wearing all black, but not the livery of a servant. I felt against my coat for my small pocket pistol as the guests started flowing out of the house.
As I moved aside, I heard Richard’s voice say, “Allow me to call for your carriage, Mr. Monroe.”
Was that Richard’s plan? To abduct James Monroe. My chest and mind filled with anger, craving revenge. I started down the steps, but Bess appeared through the crowd, somehow knowing what was afoot.
“Protect Mr. Monroe,” she ordered in a whisper then she lifted her skirt and walked out a
mongst the carriages.
It was an order from my leader, and it took all of my self-control to obey. I pushed my way through the people exiting the house and took Mr. Monroe’s arm. “Sir, a moment of your time if you will.”
He smiled down at me as we moved through the thick of people back into the house. I did not know what Bess was going to do nor did I want to leave her alone for long. My mother was speaking with General Harvey when I led Mr. Monroe to her.
“Ma’am, here is Mr. Monroe. I told you I would reach him before he departed.” Mr. Monroe was looking quizzically at me. “She was most distraught when she thought you had got away.”
My mother, bless her, picked up the thread and began to wind it. “Please say you will have time to dine with us while you are in our metropolis.”
I left him to my mother and tried to go outside. The front door was crowded. Forcing my way through as kindly as I could, I made it to the top step and looked through the carriages, but as it was growing dark all the carriages looked the same. My mind started yelling at me that they had captured Bess. Panic and terror seized my chest, my gaze swinging in every direction. Giving in to my fear, I panicked and yelled for her.
“Bess!”
A scream rose above the clatter of carriages, the horses’ hooves, and the chatter of the people.
“Help! Help me!”
Bess. I tried to force my way through the crowd as it became frantic. Ladies began to shriek and run for the door while men were looking around for the source of the scream. Jostled aside, a tall man leapt over the rail and onto the sidewalk. I watched his familiar head disappear into the row of carriages until my mother appeared at my side, pale with fright.
“Keep Mr. Monroe inside,” I demanded and ran into the night.
Chapter 13
Phantoms In Philadelphia (Phantom Knights Book 1) Page 17
