The Charleston Chase (Phantom Knights Book 2) (11 page)

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 your 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 questioning 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.

“Precisely.”

Bess

19 March 1817

Charleston

S
eated in
the parlor, I was composing a letter to Edith Harvey, my dearest
friend in Philadelphia, when a knock fell upon the front door. When
it was opened, Levi came in.