The Charleston Chase (Phantom Knights Book 2) Read online

  “Can I see?” she whispered, her eyes round with a mixture of fear and determination.

  With a glance around, I untucked the back of my shirt and raised it half up my back so Char could see the mark that would forever be a part of me. I knew what she was looking at. A pyramid with a lightning bolt through it, four inches in length.

  “How could anyone do that to you?” Char exclaimed; a hand placed over her heart, and the other curled into a little fist at her side.

  I lowered my shirt, tucking it back into my black breeches. “The people who held me wanted me always to remember that I was a spy, that they had captured me and forced their judgment upon me.” I left out that I had been captured and branded because of the woman my brother loved. That was something I would not share with anyone outside my own family, for I intended to deal with Guinevere myself.

  “So even Raven can be broken,” Char said as if to herself, as if she was awakening from a dream and did not like what she was seeing.

  “We can all be broken, Char, but what matters is the choice you make, to either stay shattered or to pick up the pieces and put yourself back together as best you can.”

  Charlotte turned from staring at me, picked up a loaded pistol, aimed, and fired. She dropped the smoking pistol on the table. “I would like to go back to the city now, please.” She walked away without looking at the target, but I looked, and then stared. Charlotte had hit the center.

  ***

  Charlotte had ordered Abe to drive us to Sam’s house instead of back to Rose’s house, and a part of me wished that I had never shown Char my brand. I was seated in Sam’s parlor listening to Char scream at her brother in his library. Her voice was loud even through the closed door. I knew it would not be long before Sam sought me out, if Charlotte’s shouts and accusations were any indication of the storm ahead. Not even five minutes had passed before the door opened, and Char called for me. I rose, releasing a deep breath, and walked calmly into the book room, closing the door behind me. Sam was standing before the wall of windows with his hands clasped on the back of his neck, his back rigid.

  “Bess,” Char said, drawing my attention away from Sam’s back, “what are other methods of torture?”

  “I do not believe—” I started in cautiously, and Char interrupted.

  “I need to know. Water? Fire? Starvation? Stretching?”

  Sam did not respond as I expected he would; he did not turn to face us. Char was staring at me for a reply.

  “Yes, though people do not use the rack much anymore, as it is not easily accessible.” I tried for levity, but it was lost on Char, and Sam still would not turn.

  “What about slavery?” Char demanded with wide eyes and a look of complete horror masking her usually happy face. “Will they sell you? Ravish you?” As hysterical as her voice was and as high as she was screeching, I knew it was the only way she was holding back tears. Since Sam was so obviously avoiding confrontation—disagreeable man—I was the one to react, taking two steps to Charlotte and wrapping my arms around her. She stood rigid with her hands at her sides for a few breaths, then crumpled against me, burying her head against my shoulder. She sobbed, mumbling incoherent words, as I rubbed her back and her hair. When I glanced at Sam, he was watching me intently, but he said nothing.

  Pushing Char back enough to see her face, I said, “If you want to do this job I will train you as best I can, but how well you succeed is up to you. Is that what you want? Do you want to be a Phantom?”

  She sniffled a few times then nodded.

  I smiled at her. “Then dry your eyes, sister, for that is what we are. Phantoms are family, so you and I are family.”

  Sam had moved to the door and had gone out. He returned a minute later with a short mousy woman behind him. “Mrs. Lacey will see to you, Char. I want a word with Raven.” I was not surprised that he said my Phantom name before Mrs. Lacey, as I was sure that Sam only employed the most trustworthy people in his home. Once Charlotte had gone out with Mrs. Lacey and the door was shut, Sam leaned against it.

  “Is it your intent to disrupt the harmony of my team or does it come natural to you?” he asked evenly.

  I pounced upon that in a rush. “You call this harmony? That child is scared out of her wits, and in place of blaming me, you should be rendering your thanks.”

  When Sam and I stood toe to toe, his voice was heated. “Thank you? For destroying my sister’s peace?”

  “For pointing out the fault that has been staring you in the face, but you have been too blind to see,” I snapped at him.

  “Such as?”

  “Is it not clear? She cannot accept the idea of death.”

  “She is young. She has but to learn,” he said, keeping his eyes trained on me.

  I raised my hands to heaven. “Do you hear yourself? The child told you that she never knew the sacrifices this job requires.”

  “Now she does, because of you.”

  I almost growled in frustration. “Yes, I stepped in and did your job. You should have been the one to explain all of the details of capture to her before you ever accepted her on your team. You are grossly at fault.”

  “Miss Martin, you overstep yourself,” Sam said in a low voice, his face on level with my own.

  “No, sir, I do not. This way of life calls for a certain breed of people. People who understand that their death may be necessary to protect what is good and pure.”

  His head was tilted at a little angle; his eyes focused not on my eyes but my mouth. I took a step back, my heart thundering and feeling suddenly hot. I glanced down and nearly groaned. In all the times I had seen Samuel Mason, only once was I dressed as a woman. It was no wonder that the man baited me incessantly. He most probably thought me nothing better than a woman of little respectability, acting more like a man than a woman.

  Sam pushed away from the door and walked to his desk. He picked up a letter and held it out to me. “These are my instructions for the next month.”

  As I moved to take the letter, I asked, “Are you going away, Mr. Mason?”

  He did not meet my eyes when he said, “Yes, to Boston. I leave with the evening tide on the morrow.” He picked up a stack of books and placed them in a portmanteau case behind his desk.

  “Connections to the Holy Order?” I asked, reading over a list of names and addresses.

  “So it would seem,” he murmured, and I looked up to see him watching me again.

  “Well, I shall leave you to your preparations. I assure you that your team will be safe with me,” I told him as I backed toward the door.

  “I have complete faith in your abilities,” a slow, wicked smile spread across his lips, “Bess.”

  Flutters spiraled in me like leaves in an autumn wind. The way he said my name washed over me like silk caressing the skin. I ignored the feelings and raised my eyebrows in what I hoped was a haughty manner.

  “If Phantoms are family, then you and I are family, so, in your own words, I can call you Bess and you must call me Sam.”

  Drat the man!

  ***

  It was about evening on the day Sam was to leave the city, when Levi and I climbed into Rose’s carriage that Abe was driving for us. As it rumbled down the cobblestone streets, we went over the list of names that Sam had given me. There were twenty different names on the list. We had visited five of the people, but had crossed them each out as having no knowledge that we did not know. The last name we were visiting that day was a clerk in a mercantile.

  When we reached the mercantile, Abe said he would wait for us. As Levi and I stepped into the building, all manner of pleasant smells assailed me. It was a quaint store, being one of the smaller in the city, but it was bustling with patrons as we made our way toward the clerk’s counter. Five men all wearing aprons over their clothes were helping other people. As it was the end of the work day, people were scurrying to make their purchases.

  While Levi stood beside the counter waiting for a clerk to come to his aid, I strolled aro
und the room, not truly shopping, but listening.

  Listening to chattering people was the best source of information when you wanted to discover something of importance. When information was considered ‘private,’ most people took that to mean ‘must be shared.’ I did not mind, for through gossip was where I had learned many secrets that led to the fulfillment of missions.

  As I rounded the room, hearing all manner of topics from cures for gout to Mrs. H’s daughter’s runaway marriage that was trying to be hushed up which meant that everyone knew about it, I finally found Levi in the crowd. His back was to the counter, and he was inspecting a barrel of beans.

  “What are you about?” I asked as I looked the barrel over. It was ordinary, not at all large enough to conceal a person.

  “Listen,” Levi said, grabbing my arm lightly and turning me so that my back too was facing the counter.

  “Will that be all, Mrs. Abbot?”

  “Yes, thank you,” replied a woman whose voice sent a chill through me.

  “I do hope that your delightful charge is well,” said the young man.

  “Yes, thank you. She is away visiting friends, so I am doing a bit of shopping in her absence.”

  Without turning, I knew who that woman was. She had been with Guinevere in Philadelphia in the role of chaperone. She could lead us to Guinevere. Glancing at Levi, he nodded. He was thinking the same.

  We left the mercantile ahead of Martha and walked over to where Abe was standing at the horses’ heads. I climbed into the carriage, but leaned my head out the door as we waited. When Martha, as stout as she had been in Philadelphia, exited the mercantile, I heard Levi tell Abe to follow her. He climbed in and shut the door. We each pulled out weapons and loaded them as the carriage moved sedately along the streets. Levi had recognized Martha from all the times he had watched Guinevere’s house in Philadelphia when Jack discovered that Guinevere was the white phantom and not Hannah Lamont as we had been led to believe.

  When the carriage halted before a row of houses on Queen Street, Levi opened the door, climbed down, and helped me to alight.

  “She was set down before the white house,” Abe said.

  The white house was one in a row all built against each other like the houses in Philadelphia, only more colorful. As I stepped up to the door, Levi spoke.

  “I’ll let you handle this, Bess.”

  “Are you frightened by a woman, Levi?”

  “A woman who wears turbans with knives tucked into the lining? Completely.”

  He leaned against the front of the house while I laughingly knocked on the door. I knew better than to ask how he knew what was in the lining of Martha’s turbans. Levi had been fifteen and highly curious when he was assigned to watch Guinevere’s house. I had no doubt that he had searched the inside when Guinevere and Martha were not at home. Levi had a way of discovering useful information. I never asked how he came by his information, and he never told me.

  The door opened by a young woman who was neither Martha nor Guinevere. I requested to see Mrs. Abbot. She led me into a small room where Martha was seated at a table with a cup of tea before her, her large bonnet on the seat beside her as if it had been tossed there carelessly. She looked up, met my eyes, and groaned.

  “Miss Martin, what a surprise to see you in Charleston.”

  Once the maid moved away, I advanced into the room, inspecting it but moving so my back was never to Martha. “You knew I was here, for Guinevere told you.”

  Martha stared at me with her mouth in a hard line. As her red lips parted, she barked out a deep laugh. “Miss was correct when she said you were a right forward speaker.”

  Facing Martha, placing my hands on the back of a chair, I assumed an air of friendliness. “Where is she?”

  Martha looked down at her cup, lifted it to her lips, smiled and drank. “Why would I tell you, miss?”

  I cocked an eyebrow. My meaning could not be mistaken. I had spent time before my looking glass perfecting the simple action to contain a mixture of hauteur, amusement, seriousness and warning.

  Martha eyed me cautiously. After what had to be a full minute she sighed. “She is not here. She has left the city.”

  “You expect me to believe she left without you?”

  “She did not need me for what she has to do. She has a different escort.” Martha’s lips twitched as if she was trying to refrain from laughing.

  “Where has she gone?”

  “Boston.”

  It took me a moment to realize the significance of her words. The walls of my chest felt as if they were closing in on my heart. Moving toward the door, I tossed over my shoulder, “If you are lying, I will return—with friends.”

  Stepping out of the house, I met Levi, who had straightened from the wall. I motioned for him to follow as I led the way to the carriage. I gave Abe the direction and was not surprised to see his lifted brows.

  Levi was not surprised when I told him what I suspected. We both knew that Guinevere was daring enough for anything. As the carriage rolled into the port, my feet were tapping on the carriage floor, eager to find Guinevere, to stop her from leaving Charleston.

  When the carriage halted before Sam’s warehouse, Levi leapt down, and I followed. We rounded the corner, searching the numerous people on the wharf for Guinevere.

  “There’s Sam,” Levi said.

  Sam was standing on board a ship out in the harbor, away from the wharf, preparing to set sail.

  “That’s the Intended, she’s a clipper ship modeled after Chasseur from Baltimore,” Levi informed me, pride lacing his words. “She is Sam’s second fastest ship.”

  Sam shook a man’s hand, then walked with that man to the helm. Sam looked like he belonged there, a mighty sea captain. My relief was strong, as there were no women on board his ship. Regardless, I wanted him to see us, I wanted to wave farewell, so we started pushing our way through a crowd of sailors, merchants, and passengers. Ships were being loaded and unloaded; people were disembarking, making our progress difficult.

  “Did you know that Sam was a privateer during the war?” Levi asked as we edged our way around a group of sailors carrying a heavy looking crate. “He captained one of his own ships sailing munitions through the blockade. He helped Captain Carter, who sailed us here on the Queen’s Reward, sail through the blockade with a hold full of goods bound for the Caribbean.”

  I stopped walking to stare at Levi. Pain was slicing at my heart like how one of those ships could cut through waves. It could not be the same occurrence, but I could not stop the thread of thoughts.

  My mother had owned two ships that had been made privateers during the war. They had made many successful voyages past the blockade during the war, bringing her enough money to make us wealthy for the rest of our lives. Captain Carter had bought the Queen’s Reward from my mother last year. Levi had to be mistaken, because that would mean that Sam was in part responsible for rescuing my family from financial ruin.

  As I looked toward Sam’s ship, he was no longer by the helm, but I still caught sight of him. He saw us. He smiled as he lifted his hand in a wave. Levi waved in return, but I did not, for, at that moment, a woman came up beside him.

  She may have had blonde hair, but that face I would always recognize. Guinevere was aboard Sam’s ship.

  “We must do something, steal a ship, go after them,” I said, frantically looking over the boats for one prepared to sail.

  Levi grabbed my arm as I started toward a group of sailors. “We cannot stop them, Bess. You must have faith in Sam. He can handle her if she tries anything.”

  Doubt set into my heart, but I knew we could not stop them. I would have to trust that Sam would be safe. Then again, how safe could he be? She was the white phantom; she was Ma belle; she was the source of too much trouble to be recounted, and she had sailed away with Sam.

  Chapter 7

  Jack

  4 March 1817

  Washington

  Five years ago to the day, I was
attending the second inaugural celebration of President James Madison when my father introduced me to James Monroe. I was thirteen and did not know the greatness of the man I was meeting; I did not know that he was a founder of the Phantoms. He never sought distinction for the Phantoms like George Crawford and my father had, for he wanted only a deterrent against smaller threats to our great country. He thought that by having people who both mingled in society and worked among the lower classes that we could be the eyes and ears that gave the alert about unknown threats. He never truly involved himself, other than pledging his support to my father that he would remain both silent about the Phantoms and prepared should he ever be called upon for help.

  As I stood among a large crowd who were all facing a raised stand adjacent to the brick Capitol, there was an excited air of anticipation. The sun was bright and warming the air, so that the thick overcoats of winter were not required. It was as if, after being absent most of last year and earning 1816 the title of the year without a summer, the sun was ushering in James Monroe’s new leadership with approval. This day marked the first inauguration of a president out of doors.

  As Chief Justice John Marshall administered the oath of office to James, I felt a swell of great pride and a small sense of sadness. My father would have relished this day. He would have considered it a triumph, not only for James, but for himself.

  As James placed his hand on the Bible and swore to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution, I knew that every person in the crowd was feeling the same awe as me. It was a great day for our country. After the ravages of war and then a year of weather that caused even more deaths, we were eager for a new era.

  James stepped up to give his address smiling at the crowd. From his dark suit to his powdered wig, he reminded me of the portraits of the men who stood in that role before him, and I knew James would serve the nation well, never taking advantage of the power placed in his hands.