Phantoms In Philadelphia (Phantom Knights Book 1)

Bess

  20 June 1816

  We were seated in the carriage on the way to the Knowlton’s home where Ephraim, Charles Knowlton’s only son and heir, was hosting a picnic for the younger people of society. I was seated beside Edith, listening to Guinevere, who sat across from us with Jack at her side, telling a story about when she bought her first horse.

  I was listening, but as I sat back in the corner of the carriage, I kept my eyes on Jack, watching him as he gazed at Guinevere. He was falling in love, though I doubted that he knew how deep his feelings were. Guinevere was lovely with her dark auburn hair and her eyes so blue they appeared purple. She could tell a story by expressions alone, and she was vivacious. When she spoke, I could tell that she loved life, but in moments when she thought no one was watching, there was a sadness that would creep into her eyes, like her thoughts were on a memory that caused her pain. If she caught you looking at her, she immediately perked up.

  As the carriage came to a stop outside the Knowlton’s brick house, a footman was there to open the door and help us down from the carriage. Edith took my arm, and we moved ahead, rounding the house and walking toward the garden. A veranda stepped down to a pebble path that led straight into the opening of the garden. Entering the garden was like stepping into your own private utopia. Walls of green shrubbery surrounded you in every direction as you walked through a labyrinth of colorful flowers. When you stepped out of the garden at the north end, you were looking over a delightful pond resting at the bottom of a small hill. People milled about over the manicured lawn, shooting arrows at the archery targets, swinging on the two seated tree swing, or filling plates with food at the three tables that were well stocked with every imaginable dish.

  Ephraim Knowlton was standing at the entrance to the garden. He greeted Edith and I in his usual style, which was a haughty smile, then a roving eye. He was considered handsome by some, Edith among those, but he was not the kind of man who attracted me. He was tall but lanky, and he carried himself as if he ruled the world. Edith and I passed along as Jack and Guinevere came up behind us.

  When I saw Andrew ahead, the flutters started, until I noticed that he was speaking with Hannah. When his eyes met mine he excused himself from Hannah and came toward me, and that brought the flutters back full force.

  “Here you are. I have been looking for you,” he said. The glance he gave me warmed me all over.

  Edith excused herself, and Andrew and I took a turn around the lawn. As we walked, he told me about his home in Virginia. His father owned a rather large plot of land that had the family’s home, a farm, and many cabins for the servants. He made sure that I understood that the Knowlton’s home was nothing in comparison. I knew he was trying to impress me, but his holdings were not nearly as important as the man himself.

  When I was not with him, I had a hard time coming up with exactly what it was about him that put him above every other man in my estimation. His looks were certainly pleasing, and his manners were impeccable. He had both good breeding and fortune, but strip all that away, and what would be left? That was what I was trying to discover while keeping my tumbled feelings in check. If I were not cautious, his marked attention to me would go to my head. Having the attention of the nephew of the President was a great honor, but what confused me was, what had I done to deserve his attentions. I was no more interesting, while in society, than Edith, and if looks were what he wanted, Hannah was by far superior, or Guinevere and her vivacity that drew men to her wherever she went. I was analytical, and at times, it was a curse.

  Jack and Guinevere were walking toward us, and I felt Andrew stiffen beside me, but when I looked up at his face, he was smiling in welcome.

  “Bess, we are to play blind man’s bluff. Do come,” Edith called out to me from the middle of a group of girls.

  There was a patch of the lawn that had been made into a circle by small poles with colorful ribbons hanging from them. Edith and the other young ladies all walked toward it.

  I captured Guinevere’s arm, hooking mine around it. “Do come, for I will need your support if I am to play such a game.”

  Guinevere’s face softened, and I knew she was relieved. Why the girls excluded her from everything I did not know, but I would not leave her out. We excused ourselves from the gentlemen, and when we joined the other girls, they were laughing and talking.

  “Mr. Martin is so handsome,” one of the girls said as she gazed worshipfully at my brother.

  She was correct in her estimation that Jack was handsome. His strong, narrow face gave him distinction, and his thick, black hair was envied by many of the women, while his blue eyes that could change like the weather were unmatched. Mariah once told me that when you look at Jack, you do not remember his lack of inches.

  The girl glanced at me. “I envy you, Elizabeth,” she sighed as she looked over her shoulder at Jack again, “getting to live with him.”

  “You would not envy me so much if you had to listen to his poetry recitations all the day long.”

  “He could recite poetry to me anytime,” a blonde said, ending with a dreamy sigh. That was another thing. They sighed when they looked at him, as if he was something out of their reach—which, of course, he was.

  “Mr. Martin has much to recommend him beyond his good looks,” Edith replied. “You should see if you can lure him in, Sarah.”

  “Leaving Ephraim Knowlton to you. You sly girl, I know what you are about.” They laughed as they walked between the poles and picked up the sash that would be tied around someone’s eyes.

  Guinevere said nothing during this sally of romantic nonsense, nor did she look as if their words bothered her. Why would they? She was the only woman Jack showed a partiality for.

  We walked toward the circle, but not before I heard Ephraim say that the men would bowl.

  “To where do you go, Dudley?” Thomas called out, and we stopped to look back. Dudley was following us to the circle.

  “Will you play a ladies’ game?” another called out.

  “Yes, I shall.” Dudley stopped next to me, never influenced by the opinions of others, and offered his arm. “Fools, the lot of them, but no matter, I mean to enjoy myself prodigiously.” He offered his other arm to Guinevere, and we walked together toward the circle where Edith was being blindfolded. Once the yellow sash was tied over her eyes, the game began.

  As Edith tried to catch hold of someone, the others would tap her on the shoulder then dart away from her outstretched arms. Some would give her a light shove toward someone else. If she stepped too close to the poles, everyone would yell ‘Pole’ and Edith would stop and turn about. Taunting shouts of ‘Buffy’ were called to her, as she was the buffy until she found someone and guessed their identity correctly.

  Hannah bumped Edith directly into Dudley, and she caught herself against his chest. Once her hand touched his startlingly large cravat, she yelled out, “Mr. Stanton!”

  “By jove! However did you guess, Miss Harvey?”

  I laughed at Dudley’s earnest incredulity; poor, dear Dudley. But, Dudley was not so poor in his own estimation; for, who, among the men-folk at the picnic, was surrounded by all of the young ladies. No slow top was Dudley, as his friends sometimes assumed.

  The sash was tied around Dudley’s eyes, and Edith waved several times before his face to make certain he could not see. She spun him around, tapped on his shoulder, and he set off, gingerly feeling ahead of him. Being that gentlemen rarely played such a game, the girls were giggling as they tapped his shoulder or called to him. He spun around so fast that his feet twisted together, and he tripped, falling on his backside. The girls were all shrieks and laughter as they helped him to his feet then set him off again.

  “Buffy! Buffy!”

  I was near to one of the poles, nowhere near Dudley, when he caught Hannah, though not by her own doing. Guinevere had bumped against Hannah’s back and knocked her right into Dudley. Guinevere looked at me and winked. I covered my mouth to keep from laughing aloud.


  Dudley’s hands moved over Hannah’s neck and then up to her cheeks. His thumb ran across her lips, and the girls around me were near to bursting in their enjoyment. I was watching Dudley’s face, and his mouth was frowning, but when he had touched Hannah’s lips, a wistful smile turned up the corners of his lips.

  “Miss Martin!” Dudley announced loudly.

  Hannah and I were nothing alike, and she was much shorter than I. Hannah glared at Dudley and disgustedly pushed him away from her. She left the circle, as the girls clapped three times to let Dudley know his guess was incorrect and that he was still the Buffy.

  “Why, I do say that Stanton has the right idea,” Thomas said from behind me. I looked over my shoulder at him.

  “Care to join the fun?” I asked him.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” he replied and stepped into the circle.

  The rest of the men were over at a smooth area of the lawn that had been specially designed for bowling. I watched Andrew as he tossed the ball, his coat tightening across his shoulders, and then my own clothing felt too tight.

  Arms wrapped around my waist, and I jumped, my elbow instinctively connecting hard against my captor’s shoulder. He grunted.

  “Truly, my dear, all in the name of fun,” Dudley whispered, and I relaxed my tense shoulders.

  His hands were on my waist and slowly started up. I whispered, “Bess.” Dudley had been Buffy long enough anyway.

  “Shall I hazard a guess?” Dudley called out for the sake of the game. Giggles greeted his words. “Miss Martin?” He made his voice sound unsure, like he was truly guessing.

  “Indeed it is,” I said, and Dudley removed the sash.

  Dudley was the one to cover my eyes and spin me, then give me a light push toward the center of the circle. Girls giggled all around me, and every time one of them touched me on the shoulder, I had to force myself not to react. It would not have done to break one of the girls’ noses or blacken an eye. The giggles increased though sounding further away, and I moved slowly around with my hands out before me.

  “Buffy! Buffy!” was called from my right. I had taken three steps in that direction before my hand hit something solid. I knew it was no female, nor was it Dudley. This man’s stomach was strong. It could have been Thomas, but I only thought that for a moment as my hands touched his shoulders that were broader. I am ashamed to admit that I knew who it was, but I did not immediately call out his name. My hand felt along the front of his silky waistcoat and then along his shoulder.

  From the giggles that had to have come from outside the circle, they thought they were playing a trick. Well, I would give them a good show. My hand touched his smooth cheek, and I knew he was smiling. He knew that I knew. My breath caught as I chewed on my bottom lip, trying not to laugh, or sigh.

  “Mr. Madison,” I called out and was met with cheers and laughter. He helped me to remove the sash, and I found myself looking up into his green eyes that made me think of a forest with their soft brown flecks. His lips were parted in a half smile, then slowly his dimples appeared, and I felt myself leaning toward him as if pulled in by some invisible force. A small choked sound came from my throat as I quickly stepped back. My face was aflame as I took a deep breath.

  “Very witty,” I called out to my friends who were outside the circle watching us. Andrew offered his arm, and we left the circle to take a stroll around the garden.

  “I apologize for my friends, Mr. Madison.”

  “No need, Miss Martin. I rather enjoyed that game. I used to play it with my brothers and sisters, but I do not remember it being so enjoyable.”

  My face flushed with more color, and I could not look at him, but I was gratified. I was never one given over to blushing—until I met Andrew Madison.

  As the afternoon turned to evening and the sky above grew darker, servants lit torches around the lawn, and a large camp fire was started where Thomas began telling ghost stories.

  An hour into the stories, I saw Edith break away from the group. I touched Andrew’s arm before moving toward her.

  “Oh, Bess,” Edith moaned, “I do not feel well.”

  Placing my arm around her shoulders, I moved us toward the house. I was looking for Jack when Andrew came up beside me.

  “Whatever happened, Miss Martin?”

  “Edith is not feeling well. I must see her home.”

  “Please,” he said, as his hand rested on my arm, “allow me to offer my carriage. There is no need for your brother and Miss Clark to be pulled away when I am departing myself.”

  Without thinking too deeply into his sudden departure, I thanked him and went to find Jack. Jack looked rather pleased when I told him that Andrew would escort us.

  “Jack, take care,” I said, but did not add any more, for he understood my meaning as I glanced at Guinevere.

  The carriage Andrew was using I had never seen before, but I did not question him. I knew that Mr. Monroe had left Philadelphia, and Andrew had stayed behind. He said he would be in the city for two weeks before traveling to his uncle’s house for their independence celebration.

  Since the Knowlton’s lived outside the city, and the only light was that of the moon and the lanterns that hung from the carriage, the progress was slow. Conversation was sparse as Edith moaned with every bump of the carriage. We were but a mile outside the city, when shots rang from outside the carriage.

  The carriage lurched, and Edith screamed as we were tossed onto the floor. Andrew’s strong hands helped us to sit up, but the carriage was resting at an angle. He pulled a pistol from one of the seat pockets and checked it.

  “Stay here,” he instructed and opened the carriage door and climbed down. I felt around for a second pistol, and my finger had touched one when Edith screamed again. Twisting around, I came face to face with a man wearing a muffler pulled over his mouth and nose. A pistol was in his hand pointed directly at my heart.

  “Out,” he ordered, and slowly I rose and started to climb down.

  When my feet hit solid ground, I heard punches being exchanged. The man who was taller and stronger than I cursed, tucking his pistol into his belt. He wrapped his arms around my waist, throwing me over his shoulder. He ran with me toward his horse. I did not have a pistol, but I did have a knife strapped to my leg. If I could only reach it. Knowing that the man would have to release me to get me on his horse that was when I would strike. Edith screamed my name, terror in her voice, and Andrew was running toward us with the other man sprawled on the ground behind him. I would not have to rescue myself. I was set on my feet beside a large horse, and my captor swung around, but the pistol was knocked from his hand, and a fist was thrown against his jaw. When the pistol hit the ground, I quickly picked it up and leveled it, but the two men were wrapped in each other’s arms, engaged in a dangerous dance of sorts. As soon as my aim was upon my erstwhile captor, they would shift, and the barrel would be pointed at Andrew.

  Andrew. He was brilliant. They were evenly matched in strength, but Andrew had a steely determination. I lowered the pistol to watch. Andrew broke free and struck hard against the man’s face, and followed swiftly with a blow to the gut. His fist slammed against the side of the man’s nose, and the man went down. I wanted to clap, to cheer. I was impressed beyond words.

  Andrew’s breaths were ragged as he stared down at the man. When I reached his side, he looked at me, and my heart constricted. His lip was bleeding, and one of his eyes was swelling.

  “Oh, Andrew. We must have someone see to your wounds.” I took his hand, seeing the blood on his knuckles. I swallowed the lump in my throat as we moved toward the carriage.

  “Should we not turn him over to the constables?” Andrew asked, stopping to look at the man on the ground.

  “Edith would have hysterics if we put him in the carriage. I believe that the pain he will feel upon waking will be punishment enough.”

  Andrew asked his coachman about his condition, and the man said he received only a graze. He had the carriage back on th
e road, and when I opened the door, Edith was in the corner sobbing. I sat beside her for the rest of the journey to my house. When we arrived, I asked Andrew to come in, but he refused.

  “Please,” I said in a harassed tone, “the least I can do is to see to your wounds, though I owe you so much more.”

  Andrew finally agreed, and I directed the coachman where to take the carriage and then to go to the back door where someone would see to his wound.

  When we entered the house, my mother was not home from a party, but Arnaud and Mrs. Beaumont were there to greet us. Mrs. Beaumont led Edith, who was no longer sobbing, but still shaking, above stairs.

  Arnaud hovered over us until I sent him to fetch the necessary items to clean Andrew’s wounds. I took Andrew’s arm and led him to a chair in the library as it was the only room with a fire in the hearth.

  “Now, I will survey the damage, if you do not mind.”

  Andrew remained quiet as I looked him over. His right eye was the color of coal, and it was already swollen shut. His lip had a cut across the top, and his hands were covered in cuts and dried blood. His nose was perfect, as was his left eye through which he watched me closely. Arnaud brought in water, bandages and brandy, and scurried off again in search of Leo. As gently as I could, I cleaned the cut on his lip and applied sticking plaster. I knelt down before him to clean his hands then wrapped them in the white cloth bandages, and for some inexplicable reason I felt like crying. I told myself it was from the events of the past month, but I knew there was more to it than that.

  “I can never thank you enough, Mr. Madison. You fought so valiantly. I feel responsible for your wounds.”

  “Elizabeth,” he said softly, and my gaze flew to his, “you are in no way to blame for what happened. I give thanks that you are safe.” He smiled then winced.

  My emotions were spiraling out of control. He had called me Elizabeth, and I liked hearing it, I liked him, but my feelings caused a pang of guilt.

  “You called me Andrew earlier, and I rather liked it. I hope that you will do so again.”

  Biting my lip, I nodded, but I felt like a traitor, like I was doing wrong allowing this new familiarity with Andrew, even though I knew there was nothing wrong with the way I felt for him.

  After Andrew had drunk a glass of brandy and Leo had looked over his wounds, I walked with him to the door.

  “I believe I will postpone our outing to the museum a few days.”

  “Rightly so. Do take care, Andrew,” I said as I took his offered hand. He kissed the back of my hand and departed the house, leaving me feeling bereft and guilty. It was the guilt that caused tears to trickle down my cheeks.

  Chapter 18

  Jack