The Charleston Chase (Phantom Knights Book 2) Read online

  At the beginning of the month, Charlotte had gone to Sam’s house every day to help Mrs. Lacey prepare for the upcoming boat race and all the events surrounding it. Charlotte, as Rose informed me, loved to plan parties and was talented at it. The day of the pre-race party was drawing near, and I still had not decided to attend.

  For the last two weeks, I had been training the women on what to listen for while in society. Some of the best secrets could be garnered and traded while at a ball or a picnic, if one knew what they were listening for.

  Levi had suggested that we also train them in the art of seduction, much as we had learned when we were being trained. Charlotte had insisted that she was an expert in the art of seduction; so naturally, Levi put her knowledge to the test. He waited until Char was not expecting it and cornered her in the parlor. Rose, Betsy, and I were seated on the sofa and could not hear what he said to her, but it made her flush; then he kissed her palm and wrist. He leaned in and whispered something in her ear that had her leaning toward him with her face raised expectantly toward his. When Levi stepped back, grinning, Char lost her temper and slapped him before flouncing from the room. That had been a week ago, and I had a feeling that if Sam had been there, he would have taken Levi to task. Levi was not the innocent that I had been thinking him when it came to women.

  Seduction was not something I relished teaching, nor did I believe that the Charleston Phantoms would ever have to employ such tactics. They were not mission-ready, and there were not the same threats in Charleston as there had been in Philadelphia and Washington. But, Sam had instructed me to train them in every art form that I had learned, so there I was.

  Saturday was to be the race party, and that would be the first occasion when they would put what they had learned to good use. For, anyone could be a member of the Holy Order, as I had learned in Philadelphia when my mother’s betrothed turned out to be the leader of Levitas.

  When I awoke the morning of the eighteenth, I decided to visit Martha again. I had gone to see her twice since Guinevere sailed away with Sam, but each time Martha had been conveniently away from home. It was as if the woman somehow knew I would be visiting, as ridiculous as that was to think of.

  Deciding to take the women with me after I had dressed in my work clothes, I went to each of their doors at a little past seven and told them to come into my chamber for their next lesson. Rose had been up as had Betsy, but Char came in quite disheveled from sleep and yawning.

  “I have a small mission that I want to take you on today, but first you must be properly attired.”

  Mrs. Beaumont appeared in my doorway with my morning coffee, but I had her set it aside to help me pull articles from my trunk. “If you want to succeed in this way of life, you must have the presence of mind to think ahead. When considering the proper disguise, first think about what your surroundings will be. Out of doors, a warehouse, a ballroom or drawing room? Each place will require different, but equally proper attire.”

  Mrs. Beaumont removed the fake bottom to my trunk and pulled out my brunette wig that she had made from my natural hair when I had cut it off in a moment of annoyance, my raven mask, several smaller patches of hair, a pair of spectacles, a blonde wig that she had made while we were on the ship to Charleston, and a stack of hats. The selection of weapons she left in the trunk.

  Choosing a patch of black hair, I sat before my dressing table. Mrs. Beaumont came over and started mixing up a paste to adhere the hair to my face. Upon close inspection, it was possible for a person with a keen eye to detect that the short beard was not my own, but if someone were that close to me, they would not be long for the world.

  Mariah, my former maid and fellow Phantom, had worked with me for years on perfecting the arrangement of facial hair on my face. I preferred a clean look like Sam’s. Jack told me it made me look like a rogue, and with my all black attire, I rather agreed. No matter how much I had wanted to be away from the Phantoms, the excitement of becoming someone else still sparked to life in moments like those. I could have made a great stir as an actor on the stage if I had not been blessed with a great fortune.

  “For society outings, I trust that you can choose your own raiment, but for most other missions, you will wear your designated work attire. Mrs. Beaumont has graciously made each of you a set of clothing with secret pockets for your weapons, and Levi has purchased you each a sturdy pair of boots.”

  They each looked excited as they took in my attire. It was not the grandest clothing, but it was the clothing of the Phantoms.

  Sitting perfectly still and watching each woman in the looking glass, Mrs. Beaumont expertly applied the paste and then the small patches of human hair to my face. I never asked my mother and Mrs. Beaumont where they acquired the hair that they transformed into our disguises, but Jack had once. Mother’s reply was the less we knew, the more likely would we be to wear the hair. The hair was always the most tedious part of disguise because of how fast the paste dried. It was either get it right on the first try or spend twice the time removing it and beginning again.

  When my smooth beard was in place, I stood so Rose could take my place. Mrs. Beaumont spoke with each girl on the proper coloring for their complexion, and not very patiently explained to Charlotte why she could not have blonde hair and a black mustache. When they each were properly bearded, they went to their own chambers to dress in their new clothing. I tied back my shoulder length hair and placed my hat on my head.

  “Are you certain you know what you are about, Miss Bess, to be taking these young girls with you?” Mrs. Beaumont asked.

  Tucking several knives into my weapons belt, I sighed. It was what I had been wondering since Sam announced that I would train them. “This team may not be what we are accustomed to, Jeanne,” I said, calling her by her name as my mother always did, “but I have faith in them.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Seeing you train them so expertly reminds me of your father, God rest his soul. He would be proud of you, Miss Bess.”

  Would he? After all of my blunders in leading my own team? I doubted it, but I smiled for her benefit, thanking her for her kind words.

  After deciding to take my raven mask with me, I picked up my pistols and left the room.

  In the foyer, it did not take many minutes before Rose came down the stairs. Her hair was short and tied back; there was a hat atop her head, and her coat and breeches were both black. A slim face with a pair of spectacles over the eyes and a large mole beside the nose met my astonished gaze. Rose smiled.

  “That mole is a touch of brilliance. You understand the art of disguise,” I said.

  “There are many things that I understand,” Rose replied.

  “Do you wear a wig?” I asked curiously.

  She smiled. “Not all of us are brave enough to chop off our hair, Raven.”

  When Charlotte and Betsy joined us, we set out for Queen Street, Abraham driving us in the carriage as far as King Street, and we walked the remaining two blocks to Guinevere’s house.

  “What will we do when we get there, Bess?” Charlotte asked.

  Halting, I motioned for them to follow me into an alley. “For the duration of any mission you only address your companions by their Phantom names. You are Juno,” I said to Charlotte, then looked at Betsy, “you are Griffin, and Rose is Sphinx. I, of course, am Raven.” After they had nodded their understanding, we moved on.

  When we reached Martha’s house, I stepped up to the door while Rose stood near me, and Char and Betsy were at the corner of the house. I knocked twice, and it only took a few moments before the door was cracked open, and Martha’s maidservant was looking me over from my boots to my hat.

  “Yes?”

  “Be so good as to tell Mrs. Abbot that she has a visitor.”

  The maid looked hesitant, but nodded and disappeared, leaving the door cracked open.

  Martha’s voice shouted, “Tell him I’m not at home!”

  The maid returned, but I waylaid her saying, “I understand you
r mistress is from home.” The maid’s bottom lip quivered as she nodded. Stepping back, and bowing slightly, I said, “Good day then.” Turning, and stepping away from the house, Rose fell into step beside me. “Did you hear?”

  Rose nodded, appearing as perplexed as I was feeling. Martha’s voice had been wrought with fear. Something was wrong in that house. We guided Char and Betsy down the street to where the road turned left, and then another immediate left took us onto a footpath that ran directly behind Martha’s house. As I hoped, there was a back door.

  “Are you going to show us how to pick the lock?” Char asked with a hope-filled voice.

  “No, for the door is not locked,” I said, turning the handle and opening the door. Pulling out my loaded pistol, and glancing over my shoulder; my expression told the others to do the same. We then entered the house.

  There were smells of something cooking over the fire as we moved through the narrow kitchen. The door into the small front hall was open, and immediately we heard voices. Martha was yelling at someone, moaning that she did not know her. A man’s voice replied that she was lying, and Rose and I exchanged a knowing look.

  Stepping away from the door, we conferred in whispers on what would be the quickest way to take charge of the situation. I allowed Rose to form a plan. It was not that I did not find the situation dangerous, but the point of training them was to prepare them for occurrences such as the one we found ourselves facing.

  “Leave this to me, and when I give the signal, come in prepared to apprehend,” Rose said before straightening her spectacles and walking into the foyer. Char, Betsy, and I leaned close to the door to wait and listen.

  “Who’re you?” demanded a thick voice.

  “Alfred Smotchers.” It was said in such a haughty way that I could almost see Rose giving a small bow, her hand against her abdomen, but her eyes keen on what laid before her. “The undertaker.”

  Martha moaned.

  “We did’na call for no undertaker.”

  “Ah, but I am not any undertaker, for I grant my patrons one chance to escape a life in a box.”

  “Right dicked in the nob is what you be,” proclaimed the thick voice.

  “Perhaps, but then, I am the one holding the gun, and I know how to fill my coffins.” There was a moment of silence until Rose spoke again. “There are two sisters: one gives birth to the other and she, in turn, gives birth to the first. Who are the two sisters?”

  Charlotte’s brows creased, and Betsy smiled. It was as if my mind could not help thinking over the riddle, trying to form the correct answer. Jack would know.

  “Lawks, yer jug-bitten.”

  “It is a pity that you have not been taught mythology, or you would know that your answer is incorrect.”

  “Not all of us are as inept as my companion,” a different man said. I was curious as to how many people were in the room. “I may not know the answer to your riddle, but I know the solution. Kill him.”

  There was a loud groan, a shriek, and a crash. Taking that for the signal and running into the room with both of my pistols in my hands, I stumbled over an overturned chair. As my stomach smacked against a table, someone ran into my back. It was Charlotte. Righting ourselves, we turned toward the only movement in the room.

  Martha’s ample form was seated in a chair, the barrel of a gun pointed at her head. A man stood behind her with a knife sticking out of his arm. Another man was on the floor, and Rose was standing with her pistol pointed at the man beside Martha. Relief flooded my mind seeing Rose unharmed.

  Martha’s eyes widened for a moment when she saw my face. Her right hand that was hanging down at her side turned and she opened her palm to reveal a sharp hat pin. As Rose threatened the man holding the pistol against Martha’s head, I shook my own slightly. If Martha stabbed him, she would run the risk of being shot before he went down.

  The man with the gun was defiant, refusing to give up his hostage, knowing he would be harmed once he did. He did not wear the snake ring, nor did he have the accent that told of the men who had murdered the man I was going to marry when I was sixteen. The old pang of grief no longer struck me when I thought about Ben, but I was as determined now to find all the people connected in his death as I was when he died in my arms.

  This man was after Guinevere for something other than her being Ma belle, or the Danish speaking men were hiring Americans to join them in their hunt for Guinevere. Either way, she was not in Charleston.

  Seeing the only possible way out of the situation, I stepped forward. “We know for whom you search, but she is not here. She has deserted Mrs. Abbot and moved to Boston, left nearly a month ago she did.”

  His eyes brightened with suspicion. “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because I was the one to put her on the ship,” I said, holding his gaze. “Now, I am willing to make a bargain if you are.” He still looked suspicious, but also a bit relieved. “I will give you her direction in Boston, and in exchange, you will release Mrs. Abbot and never bother her again.”

  “You presume much,” he said with a laugh.

  “I never presume, for that is a sure way to get oneself killed.”

  After a moment of holding my gaze, he smiled.

  “Put away your pistols, men,” I said to the team.

  They looked at me as if I had gone mad, but they did as I instructed. When they had put their weapons away, the man lowered his. I pulled a small card from my pocket along with a small pencil, and after writing out an address, held it out. He lowered his own weapon, but kept it in hand as he stepped toward me. He took one end of the card, but I held the other.

  “If you so much as set foot on Queen Street again, I will know, and next time, you will find that leniency is not something that I repeat.”

  He inclined his head, so I released the card. He left his companion behind as he departed the house.

  Martha leaned back in her chair, pulled a book off a small table beside her and began fanning herself and laughing. “I do declare, Raven, that you have enough audacity for a bevy of rogues.”

  “From the keeper of the white phantom I take that as a compliment,” I replied.

  She barked out a laugh. “No one is the keeper of that girl, she keeps herself, make no mistake.” She leaned her large body forward, appearing eager. “Where did you send that scoundrel?”

  Grinning at her, I said, “The Old North Church.”

  She barked out another laugh, and I felt a moment of harmony with Martha. It would probably be the only moment ever for I was a Phantom, and she was the chaperone to a member of the Holy Order. Informing the team to await me outside, I picked up the overturned chair and set it before Martha. Seating myself, I leaned forward until my arms were resting on my knees.

  Once I heard the front door close behind the others I said, “Why did Guinevere go to Boston, Martha?”

  Martha’s face became serious, her eyes pools of untold knowledge. Looking at her that close I was surprised to realize that she was not as old as I suspected. She was probably in her early thirties.

  “She did not go to Boston, but to Baltimore and if you cannot guess why you are not as knowing as I credit you for.”

  Leaning back slowly, I did know why. It came upon me all of a sudden, like a black room with unknown depth had been illuminated. Tingling started in my hands, and I glanced down to see that I was clenching them tight. Releasing them, I said, “She went to find John.”

  Martha smiled smugly, “A right knowing one is what you are, Miss Martin, and I pity any who tries to best you, as I have told my mistress often enough.”

  Rising, I said, “Thank you, Martha, and do be sure to send word if you are so bothered again. You may be sure of the Phantoms coming to your aid.”

  She smiled and waved as I left the room and then the house.

  It was in a state of abstraction that I walked with the others back toward home. Guinevere had gone to find Jack. For the first five blocks I found it intriguing, but then I started que
stioning the truth. Martha worked for Guinevere, why would she so willingly tell me? The truth was; she would not. Going to find Jack indeed.

  Martha had spoken the truth about one thing though; I was a right knowing one, and Martha knew that when she uttered the words. She expected me to see through her deception. But why? What was Guinevere about and what did it have to do with Sam?

  “Raven? Have you heard a word I’ve been saying?” Charlotte demanded, and I pulled my thoughts back to the moment.

  “Forgive me, Juno. What was it you were saying?”

  “Why did you allow that man to escape?”

  “He was unnecessary to our mission.” She appeared surprised, so I explained. “If you want to be successful in this life you must expand your mind in every situation. Determine all possible outcomes, weigh in all factors. That man would never have surrendered. He would have killed Martha first and possibly harmed one of you.”

  “So you lied,” Rose said.

  “I prevaricated about the truth. Guinevere did go to Boston; she did leave Martha behind.”

  “How did you know he would believe your sham?” Betsy asked.

  “The way to prevaricate successfully, or lie,” I said, smiling wryly at Rose, “is to stare into your opponent’s eyes, and speak with a firm voice. Never be the first to look away.”

  Rose laughed and shook her head. “You do frighten me at times, Raven.”

  “Speaking of frightening, what was the answer to your death riddle, Sphinx?”

  She grinned. “Have you never heard the term, two sisters as different as...”

  “Day and night,” I said with dawning understanding.