The Charleston Chase (Phantom Knights Book 2) (30 page)

It was not until the fourth day that we were able to
search the buildings in Moncks Corner. While Leo went into the
tavern to see what he could discover, Betsy and I spent an hour
inside the mercantile. We had not been there ten minutes, before I
realized she was more than a beautiful face. She had wit and an
informed mind. Quick on her feet, she kept the mercantile owners
bustling after her while I snuck into the back and searched the
storeroom for any doors or hatches that could lead below the
building. Since finding the last Holy Order throne room below a
mercantile, it was possible that they had many more places like
that.

My muscles strained as I pushed a tall shelf out of
the way of a door in the wall. Opening the door, eagerness filling
my chest, I stepped through the open doorway. There were four
walls, all within reach when I stretched out my arms.

“Do you make a habit of hiding in broom closets, Mr.
Martin?” a deep woman’s voice asked from behind me.

Spinning around, my jaw dropped. “Martha.”

She smiled at me and stepped aside as I moved out of
the broom closet. “What are you doing here? Where is
Guinevere?”

She clicked her tongue at me. “As to what I am doing
here, I followed you here.”

“Why?” I demanded, feeling as if the world had
suddenly tilted, and nothing made sense any longer.

She huffed and looked as if she wanted to chide me.
“You will not find what you are looking for here. Go back to
Charleston, Mr. Martin, and wait for my mistress to call upon you.”
Martha nodded then walked toward the door to the front of the
mercantile, but I jumped forward, blocking her path.

She sighed, and her head shook from side to side,
her expression irritable. “I can see what you are thinking. Miss
Clark wanted me to get a note to you, but I thought it better to
meet you in person.”

It still made not a whit of sense to me why either
Martha or Guinevere would seek me out. Guinevere was responsible
for Bess’s disappearance, and Martha was Guinevere’s companion.
“Again I repeat myself. Why?”

“Your sister did me a good turn. Consider this my
repayment. Miss Clark will call upon you either this night or in
the morning at the latest. As I said, go back to Charleston, you
are wasting your time here.”

“You could be lying,” I said, watching her face
closely.

“I could also be at home resting my aching feet, but
I’m here. Take it as you will.” She nodded again, shoved me out of
her way, and left the mercantile.

When I emerged from the storeroom, Betsy saw me, and
soon we left the mercantile, walking toward where we had left our
horses. I told her about meeting with Martha, and Betsy looked
relieved, clasping her hands together.

“She will be all right, Mr. Martin,” Betsy said
softly.

Glancing down at her, for she was a slip of a girl,
barely over five feet tall; I saw not pity, but assurance. She was
certain of what she said.

Bess knew how to stay alive, and from what I knew of
Abe and Betsy’s past, she knew the same.

As Phantoms, we had overcome great adversity, and
through the trials, we were inclined to do our utmost to make the
world a better place for future generations. Dwelling in a free
land was a privilege, and it was our duty to protect and nurture
our great country.

“Thank you, Betsy.”

Since we could not leave the town before we rejoined
the others, we walked along the street looking in different shops,
but my mind was taking everything in, watching for any sign of
trouble. When none came and Betsy convinced me to trust in Martha’s
words, I felt lighter.

Sam joined us after noon, appearing out of sorts.
When he climbed out of his saddle, he was scowling. “If one more
matchmaking mother throws her daughter at me...”

Betsy appeared worried, but I laughed. “Had a full
morning, Sam?”

His eyes narrowed. “I am of the mind that the next
house I visit you will attend with me, where not only are there
twins of marriageable age, but a determined mama.”

“Does she wear gowns of puce satin and high
turbans?” I looked down at Betsy in mock horror. “They always do,
you know, those matchmaking mamas.”

“You laugh now, Jack, but it will be bellows to mend
with you when you become a tenant for life to a woman whose mother
is a rattlepate.”

“Boot is on the other leg, my friend,” I replied
jovially.

“I must disagree with you, Mr. Martin, for I have
met your mother,” Betsy said calmly.

Laughter filled the air from me at Sam’s wide eyes
and gaping mouth.

“Mr. Mason!” A man came toward us from the tavern
that was two buildings down from where we stood.

Sam’s brows puckered at the voice like he did not
want to see that person, but he turned toward the caller.

“Mr. Marx.” Sam said it in the way of an accusation,
but the man only smiled.

Mr. Marx glanced at me as he stepped toward us.

“Mr. Marx, allow me to present Mr. John Martin,” Sam
said.

“You are Miss Martin’s brother? She has spoken of
you much.”

“You know my sister, do you?” I asked, watching
where Mr. Marx looked when he spoke, for where his eyes rested told
a story all its own.

“Miss Martin and I have become friends you might
say,” he said, holding my gaze, neither looking to the right or the
left.

Sam mumbled something that only I
could hear. It sounded like loose screw
and damned hum.

He glanced at Sam, smiling like he had beaten Sam at
a game. “I was hoping to discover when she means to return to
town.”

“What do you mean?” Sam’s voice was like a snap of a
whip.

Mr. Marx’s head tilted to the side a little; he was
staring at Sam as if Sam was some museum curiosity. “Why, that Mrs.
Eldridge told me that Miss Martin has gone into the country with
her brother Levi to visit friends.”

Sam’s mood was quickly dwindling, so I replied, “She
should be returned within a week.”

“Then I shall call upon her then,” he said, and his
accent was stronger than it had been. It sparked a familiar note in
my mind, but I could not place it.

He tugged down on his sleeves like some kind of
dandy. There was a white band on his wrist. “Well, I must be off.
It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Martin.” He
inclined his head to Sam and set off toward the tavern.

“Always pitching the gammon that one,” Sam said.

Betsy was biting her lip, trying to keep from
laughing. I winked at her before telling Sam what we had learned.
He was as skeptical as I had been, but when Betsy pointed out that
it meant he would have to endure no more matchmaking mamas, he
breathed a sigh of relief and voted for home. Abe and Leo were
walking toward us, so Betsy went to meet them.

“You have a treasure in that one, Sam,” I said,
watching Betsy.

“I concur. She certainly has the determination of
her father,” Sam said abstractedly.

As I stared at him with a lift of my brows, he said,
“Have you not yet guessed? It was not for their skills alone that
Abe and Betsy were made Phantoms.”

Stepping back, I gawked as it fit together in my
mind. “George is their sire.”

“Yes, though they do not like to speak of it. George
never married because he loved their mother, but she was one of his
slaves. He was going through the procedure of having her freed when
she died during an epidemic. Soon after that he left for
Philadelphia and sold the plantation to me, along with my own
cousins.”

Shaking my head in stupefaction, I did not know what
to think of George. I was not disgusted, on the contrary I
understood how it could happen, but to abandon freeing his own
children, well that did not seem right to me.

“George financed all of the slaves being freed,
Jack,” Sam said quietly as the others were walking toward us. “He
did the best he could in his grief consumed state.”

Nodding, for that was all I could think to do, I
walked with the others toward our horses.

***

It was dark by the time we arrived back at Sam’s
house. The women went home, but Sam and I spent another four hours
in his book room, waiting for Guinevere and looking over maps. When
Sam fell asleep in his chair, and there was no sight of Guinevere,
I went up to bed.

Only six hours had passed, and the sun had yet to
rise when I awoke and jumped up to dress for the day. It was the
sixth day since Bess had been taken, and my hope was great that it
would be the last for I meant to get her back. Entering the book
room, Sam was standing over the maps, looking as if he had not left
the room at all. He was wearing the same clothing from the day
before, all rumpled, and his hair looked as if he had been pulling
it.

“Have you left this room?”

Sam glanced up from the map then back down. “Six
days, Jack. She has been gone for six days.”

His comment grated on my nerves. As if I did not
know as well as he. She was my sister! I felt her absence like a
piece of myself was missing. I retorted, “You should know that when
this is over I mean to see my sister safely established, and if
that means removing her from Charleston, so be it.”

Sam looked up from the map. His
face was a blank mask. “You should know that I love your sister and
mean to marry her with all possible haste.”

Staring at him, his serious expression did not
change. He was in earnest. No request for my permission, no
pleasantries, only facts. “Has she agreed then?”

Sam looked back to the map. “Not yet, but you need
not fear that she will refuse me. She loves me.”

His words held so much conviction that a relieved
laugh surged out of me. Bess being captured was not humorous in the
least, but thinking about the two of them living together was.
There would be some mighty rows in their house, but I believed that
they would make their marriage work. Bess needed a strong man who
would not balk when she spoke of her past, and demanded her own
way.

“My sister will require my mother to be present, so
you must await her return.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Sam said, “but first
we must find Bess.”

“We will, today, I’m sure of it,”
I looked him over, “but first you should see to your appearance.
You look foxed.”

Sam cast me a rueful smile as he left the book room.
Glancing around the room and seeing the remains of our search in
the maps that were spread over every available surface, I had to
get out of the house so I could think. Sam loved my sister, but he
never told her, so his need to find her was great. I could not
fault him for that, for my own need to find Bess was nearly making
me mad.

It was as if Sam’s walled garden had been designed
as a place to collect one’s thoughts, or for stolen moments during
a party. At any other time, I would have admired the different
flowers and the beauty in the old, stone walls, but not when my
sister was missing. There was a stone bench against the far brick
wall, placed in the shadow of a large tree. That was where I sat,
leaning my head against the bricks and loosening my white cravat. A
breeze blew through the tree, causing the branches to dance. I
closed my eyes.

Where are you Bess? Where is Guinevere?

Martha said she would come by the morning at the
latest, but what if it was a trick? What if they wanted us to stop
searching? What if we had been close and gave up on the words of a
woman who was known for her deceptions? That was not entirely fair.
Guinevere may not have been forthright, but everything she had ever
told me had a reason. Like the Holy Order being at that Mercantile
in Baltimore. It had been true, only I had arrived too late. There
had to be a piece we were missing. Or, I was a complete fool and
was allowing my love for Guinevere to blind me to her true self. I
did not want to believe that of her, but the conviction was
strong.

She only ever told half truths, like being Richard’s
ward. Yes, he had taken her as his ward, but only because the Holy
Order demanded it. She had been sent to Philadelphia to destroy
Levitas. Her family had died when she was young, and she had been
left with a guardian. When he died, she was placed in the hands of
the Holy Order. She had so many secrets that I did not know how she
could be so strong.

“Jack,” Guinevere’s voice whispered.

My eyes opened, and my back straightened.

She stood not three feet away from me. She was
wearing her white dress and white cloak, but her hair was blonde.
She was clasping her hands before her, her face exceedingly
vulnerable.

For the first time since I had met
her last May, I was reminded that she truly was only eighteen. She
was not masking her emotions as usual; they played across her face.
She was unsure, yet determined. It was the fear that I could see by
her trembling lip, which she bit, and the shaking of her hands that
sent a fury of protectiveness and love jolting through me. I said
nothing; though there was much I wanted to say. I had to be strong
in the event that this was all a trick.

“I have something I need to say, and if you want to
turn me over to the proper authority after I have had my say, I
will not fight you.” She inhaled and exhaled before plunging into
speech. “When I first worked for the Holy Order, they were not
dangerous people. They rendered good deeds, sending food supplies
to the army during the war, rebuilding churches and homes, giving
money to the poor, they showed true charity. Then, the leader
decided that he wanted more.

“He formed a true secret society,
separate branches; Levitas in Philadelphia being one of them, and
with each branch, his greed for power grew. He started sending me
out to collect payment from people who could not afford to pay, and
then he would have unspeakable things done to them. I had no
choice, for he held something of mine that I could not lose. But, I
cannot continue, not with what they plan to do.”