Phantoms In Philadelphia (Phantom Knights Book 1) Page 9

Jack

  27 May 1816

  Standing between my mother and Bess, we greeted the arriving guests at the foot of the stairs. It appeared that all of Philadelphian society would turn out for Bess’ ball. Nearly every family had an unattached son in tow who begged for the honor of a dance with Bess. When my good friend Dudley Stanton had learned that we were home, he had hurried to the house yesterday to beg Bess for the first dance, and since she had no previous offers, she accepted. I saw Dudley pushing his way through the throng of well-dressed persons.

  Dudley Stanton was the epitome of a fashionable man from his light brown hair arranged artfully messy in a windswept style to his black tight-fitting coat. He was the kind of man who would never stir out of doors if his cravat was not tied precisely to his liking. When he bowed, I heard the sound of creaking, which caused me to bite the inside of my lip to keep from laughing. Dud insisted upon wearing a corset beneath his too-tight clothing. It was a fashion from days gone by, but as Dud was both short and plump, it was for the best. Over the last year when we were not on a mission, I had gone into society a few times with Dudley.

  I glanced at my sister, and she, too, was trying to control her laughter. When Dud greeted Bess, a look of such longing came into his eyes that Bess glanced at me in a plea for help. Dudley had been in love with Bess from the time we first met him upon moving to Philadelphia, but his feelings were unrequited. She liked him well enough, but what Dud refused to acknowledge was that Bess saw him as another brother.

  When Dud looked as if he would remain at her side, I stepped in and moved him away.

  We made our way toward the drawing room, bumping into others that were also trying to make their way through the crowded foyer. Dud was telling me that it was finally his time; that he would win my sister and how her beauty grew each time he saw her. When she moved home three months ago, Dud had nearly lived on our doorstep. He was at the house every day, until we left for our mission in Washington.

  As we reached the drawing room, I glanced over the assembled guests crowded into the room. The furniture had been removed and was replaced with small chairs that lined the walls and a small ensemble of musicians with stringed instruments. The middle of the floor was for dancing.

  My name was called, and I looked to my left to where a group of my friends were hovering in the corner. I waved but did not go to them. It was my duty as the head of the house to greet all of the guests before I spent the rest of the evening with my friends.

  The gold scrollwork on the ceiling glittered, and the candles in the gold sconces on the yellow walls flickered. Added to that, were the two crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, and you had a room fitted for any palace.

  When Bess appeared at my arm, it meant the start to the dancing. Dud elbowed me out of his way, as he took her hand and led her to the center of the floor. As they were joined by other dancers, I leaned against the wall for a moment to watch. Poor Dud had to tilt his head back to be able to see Bess’s eyes, but her height never once bothered him. He was a man in love, and what others considered flaws, he considered marks of beauty. The truly sad fact was I would give my consent to their marriage if Bess felt different. I could not say that about any other man in the room.

  At the end of half an hour, I had greeted several people, passed by some with a nod and a smile, and stopped beside a few who hailed me. With my duty done, I was making my way to my friends, when I heard my name being called. I turned to my right and nearly cursed.

  Mrs. Campbell, a plump, nosy, outspoken woman, was beckoning to me with her large, feather-edged fan. There was no way to escape the inevitable, so I fixed a smile on my lips and moved to greet her. I bowed, but she gave me no time to speak for she was off like a horse at the races.

  “Why are you not dancing? If due to the selection, then I do not blame you. Watery, the lot of them.” She swung at me with her closed fan, and I stood still, taking the rap on my arm without a word. I focused on her purple turban as she went on. “Your sister of course is the reigning beauty, but you will hardly dance the night with her.” She then changed subjects. “Are you sure that you prefer the church to marriage? I know of a young woman who would suit you well. My niece Elvira is biddable, perfect for any young man.”

  To my complete annoyance, she waved at someone with her fan. As I turned I collided with a young girl, freckled and gap-toothed. The top of her head bumped into my chin, and unruly hair tickled my nose. She grasped hold of my arms, but she was in no danger of falling. I placed my hands on her arms setting her back and getting my first good look at her.

  Saints preserve me. She could be no older than fourteen. That was one of the downfalls of being a member of high society, playing agreeable with people you would rather not play with at all. But, I knew my duty, so I bowed.

  “Ask the girl to dance,” Mrs. Campbell urged, with a sly smile.

  There was no way out, short of fire or my death, or Mrs. Campbell’s. I bit my cheek to keep from grinning at that pleasant thought as I extended my hand and asked for a dance. She showed not the slightest reluctance, as she clamped onto my arm and pulled me toward the other dancers.

  As the music struck up, Elvira never once looked at my face, too occupied with looking at her feet and counting her steps. Try as I would, she would not be engaged in conversation. I was determined to keep away from Mrs. Campbell and her niece for the remainder of the evening. As we passed by where Bess was standing, she cast me a brilliant smile, one that told of her amusement at my expense. I crossed my eyes, making Bess laugh and tip her champagne glass, spilling some on one of the men vying for her attention.

  As we went down the line of dancers, I received some piteous looks from my friends. Most of my friends avoided Mrs. Campbell like she was a plague trying to attach to them and rob them of their lives or bachelor status. For some, it was the same thing.

  There was some stir amongst the men as they edged their way toward the door or elbowed each other, smiling. Then I saw why. My heart gave a startling lurch and began beating like it wanted to escape my body as my eyes locked with the hyacinth eyes of the woman from the Inn. Jolts of energy were dancing along my spine as a smile formed on her pink lips. My chest tightened in a way that was both painful and foreign. It felt like someone had sucked all the air away from me, but yet I felt more alive than I had in the past seven years of missions, espionage, and battles of the war.

  Something solid bumped into me shattering the moment. I drew my eyes away as I caught Elvira about the waist, trying to keep us both upright. Something akin to an apology flowed from her lips, but she cast an imploring look at her aunt. I offered an apology of my own when the music faded.

  As I looked toward the door, my stomach clenched tight as heat crept up my neck. The young woman from the Inn was covering her mouth with her fan, but I could see the laughter in her eyes. She looked away as a group of men surrounded her.

  A tug on my arm brought me back to where I was, standing in the middle of the floor with Elvira. I begged her pardon and escorted her to her aunt. The woman scowled at me, but I excused myself without apologizing to her. She did not deserve an apology.

  An army of men was surrounding the woman from the Inn when I reached them. I could only stand at the back of the group.

  “Greetings, John,” Thomas one of my friends said to me in his good natured voice.

  “Thomas, good evening,” I replied as I shook the hand he held out to me. Thomas was the most unruly of all my friends. It did not matter where we were, whether it be at a card party or an elegant evening soiree, you could count on two things. One; that Thomas’s appearance, from his yellow hair to his loose fitting attire, would be in disarray, and two; that he did not care in the least.

  “I see that you have noticed the newest beauty in our midst.”

  “Who is she?” I asked, as I tried to get a view of her through the ten men hovering over her.

  “Miss Clark. Newly arrived last month and staying with a chaperone. It is sai
d that she has come to find her legal guardian, but I know no more.”

  “Will you introduce me?” I asked, hope rising inside me.

  Thomas smiled impishly. “Let us see if we can squeeze through this den.” Thomas’s smile faded, and he became all business, pushing his way through the men. “Look out, coming through. Master of the house coming through. Stand aside.” I followed Thomas as we pressed our way through the men, most of whom I knew well. I stood behind Thomas, allowing his tall frame to block me as he greeted Miss Clark, and then he stepped aside.

  “Miss Clark, allow me to present my friend and the master of this house, Mr. John Martin.”

  I bowed before her, and when I looked into her eyes, she smiled. She was poetically beautiful. Her auburn hair was piled atop her head, her purple-blue eyes unmatched in any other person I had ever seen, and she had a dimple in her right cheek when she smiled.

  “I do hope that no more discomforts have plagued you,” I said as I straightened.

  Her eyes lit up. “It is you, I was sure that I could not be mistaken.” Upon Thomas’s look of inquiry, she explained. “Mr. Martin rendered me a service yesterday. He was quite gallant.”

  Thomas looked from her to me in disbelief. “What, Saint John, our proud poet, the knight gallant? Surely you mistake.”

  “Saint John? I had not heard that epithet, but I have heard of you,” she said.

  “Lies, I assure you, if it was from this lot here that you heard my name.”

  Thomas and a few of the others cried against my words, but I ignored them.

  “He is destined for the church you see,” Thomas explained, and I felt myself losing ground.

  She looked at me like she could not believe it, or would not. “But you are a man of birth and family. Surely the church is not necessary.”

  “I assure you, Miss Clark, that the church is always necessary, but as for joining, it is yet undecided.”

  “Ah.” She said the one word as if she were relieved.

  The men began to press closer, growing restless at my taking up so much of her time, so I held out my hand, determined to get her away from the group. “Might I have the privilege of this dance?”

  She cast down her eyes. “I am unsure how to reply. What if you stop in the middle of our dance and I am cast upon the floor?” She lifted her eyes to mine, amusement sparkling in their depths. I said nothing as Thomas came to my rescue.

  “No fear there, John is an excellent dancer.” He stopped abruptly, and I nearly laughed as he went on, “Oh, what I mean to say is that he will surely trip you. You should instead dance with me. I shall not cast you upon the floor.” Thomas held out his hand to her as well, but it was mine that she reached for.

  As I led her into the set, I assured her that I would not tread upon her feet. She laughed. Her voice was like a melodious song. She reminded me of a bird; a beautiful, rare bird that if not handled with extreme care, would suddenly fly away, never to return.

  “Is it true that you always carry a book of sonnets?”

  I smiled, for without their knowing, my friends had done much to aid me by talking to her of me. I laid a hand on my chest where my pocket was within my coat. “It is true, for one never knows when one may be called upon to render a verse.”

  Her smile turned mocking. “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind?”

  So she knew poetry, did she? Before I could make a reply she added, “Do you believe that for truth?”

  “Truth is a matter of perception, with each man believing his perception is the only way,” I replied simply and honestly before I reflected how my words would be taken. As we separated in the dance, I watched her brows crease. I wanted to kick myself for stepping out of my role of a poet and speaking my true thoughts. There was something about the woman that made me want to be honest, and that in itself was a danger.

  When we came back together in the dance, I was ready to speak a verse to her about her beauty, but she spoke first.

  “Is that woman a relation of yours?”

  As my eyes moved in the direction Miss Clark was looking, Bess was watching us intently. I smiled at Bess, and she smirked in return. “Yes, that is my sister Elizabeth. I know that she will want to meet you. I shall present you if you have no objections.”

  “None,” Miss Clark replied before moving away again.

  When the dance ended, I did not have the opportunity to make an introduction, as Richard came upon us.

  “John, I was hoping to find you. Would you accompany me to the library? A group of my friends are there and desire to meet my future son.” He spoke the words as if all of Philadelphia were privileged to the truth. As I glanced around, I realized that they were. My mother had some explaining to do. I turned to Miss Clark, excusing myself, but I had little qualms over leaving her as she was pounced upon the moment I stepped away.

  My library was opened, as a place where men could gather. When Richard and I entered the room it was full of older men, most of whom I was acquainted, but Richard did not know that.

  Richard began the introductions with a tall man who had his back to me. When he turned, I clenched my hands at my sides as my first impulse was to strike. Miss Clark’s attacker stared me down with as much hostility in his eyes as I was feeling in my body.

  “John, allow me to present Nicholas Mansfield.”

  For a moment, I stared up at the man in incredulity. I had half expected the man who accosted Miss Clark to be some poor tradesman, but no, he was not only a man of some means but the possible leader of Levitas. More than ever, I wanted to pull out my small pocket pistol and rid the world of the scum.

  “My dear Nicholas, what happened to your jaw?” Richard asked.

  Nicholas’s jaw was swollen and an ugly mixture of purple and black. I bit back my smile.

  “I tripped over an upturned rug striking my chin on a table.”

  “You must pay heed to those upturned rugs; you never know from whence they will spring,” I said, then moved on with Richard, turning away from Nicholas’s menacing stare.

  Richard started to introduce the next man, but I stopped him.

  “The General and I are well acquainted.”

  As I shook General Harvey’s hand, Richard turned away giving me a chance to speak alone with the long-time family friend. “What think you of that one?”

  The general’s bushy eyebrows rose pointedly, and the silver whiskers on his cheeks twitched as his eyes took in Richard. “A fine match. Your mother has done well for herself.”

  General Harvey’s opinion meant much to me since he had been a close friend of my father’s. My father had always spoken of the general with pride; something that William Martin did not make a habit of with other people. Only three men ever made my father gush with pride. General Harvey, George Washington, and Benjamin Franklin.

  I did not make a reply. I had sent to Baltimore for more news of Richard, and the contents of the reply would form my decision for me.

  A six-inch scar on the general’s left cheek, only partially covered by his full gray and white beard, captured my attention. It was an old war wound, and for some reason, I could not help but glance at it every time he was near. Looking away I listened as the general said he would be hosting a party for his niece, Edith, Bess’s dearest friend, and expected us to be present.

  Once Richard introduced me to the last of his friends, I moved to lean against the wall as most of the seats in the room were filled.

  Nicholas greeted different men, making his way about the room, when something caught my eye. As he greeted a man named Charles Knowlton, Nicholas stood with his right foot pointed straight ahead, but his left foot was behind and to the left. When they shook hands his first and second fingers wrapped around Charles Knowlton’s wrist in the shape of a v. It would not have been suspicious to anyone else, but I knew he had ties to Levitas, and I had read about the v handshake in the Levitas book. It was code for a meeting.

  After Nicholas had sat in a chair near th
e fire, the conversation turned political. Mr. James Monroe was the hopeful to take President Madison’s place. Mr. Monroe was a kind, good man. He would make a fine president—in my opinion at least.

  I moved away to the window that looked out to the street. I wanted to listen without the men thinking I was listening. Most of them knew of my aversion to all things political, or at least that was what I made them believe. I was interested in the outcome of the election, especially since it would change the course of the Phantoms.

  When my father formed the Phantoms, Mr. Monroe was one of men who joined him. He was a silent founder and only a part, because of his political connections, but if he chose to disband the Phantoms when he took office, he would have the power to do so.

  Nicholas’s voice, excusing himself, brought my thoughts back to the room. Nicholas walked into the foyer and stopped to speak with someone out of my view, but I could see the copper colored skirt of her dress. Nicholas took a letter from her, inserted it into his inner coat pocket, and returned to the library. I turned back to the window. Intriguing.

  When Nicholas was again in his seat, I went into the drawing room, arriving as another dance was concluding and intercepted Miss Clark. She agreed to dance with me again, much to the chagrin of a young man who must have been her next partner.

  While we danced, I mentioned her slighted partner, and she laughed.

  “They may think what they like, but I choose to dance with you. We have a common interest after all.”

  “Do we?” I asked, trying to think what it could be.

  “Yes, but I shall not tell you what it is. If you want to know, you must call upon me tomorrow.”

  “I shall be only too happy to oblige,” I replied, though I was a little taken aback at her forwardness in suggesting that I call upon her, but pleased nonetheless.

  When the dance was ended, I kept hold of her hand, placing it on my arm as I led her toward my sister. Bess was standing beside a young woman dressed in pink with golden hair like morning sunshine.

  We were but a few feet away, when a sultry voice spoke loudly, “So, John is Miss Clark’s next victim. She has had no fewer than ten since her arrival last month. I had thought better of him, than to be entrapped by such blatant beauty.” I stiffened, feeling hot, but my outrage was nothing in comparison to Miss Clark. Her eyes were narrowed, and her delightful mouth was set in a hard line.

  As Bess turned, I caught a flash of a copper-colored skirt. It was the same woman who had given Nicholas the letter.