Jack
It was nearly dark when Jericho and I arrived at Stark Manor.
Earlier, when I had arrived at my mother’s country house to learn that George had given orders not to go after Bess and Levi. Jericho and Mariah ignored his order and had tried three times to get into Stark Manor, but the house had at least ten guards on the outside alone. I sent Mariah to fetch Frederick and his team. They would meet us at Stark Manor.
My shoulder was screaming at me, but I ignored the pain as we rode through the woods and halted behind the house. We scouted out the area, but other than seven carriages that were parked outside the stables, no one was around. That did not sit well with me.
“I am going in. Wait here for Frederick.” I started to move away, but Jericho’s hand shot out and caught my wrist.
“There are many orders I will follow, but allowing you to go alone into that house is not one of them,” Jericho informed me. With his wolf mask pushed up on his head, I could see the determination in his eyes.
“Very well. Frederick will no doubt follow us into the house when he and his team arrive.” We ran across the lawn and the side of the house. We paused and looked around the corner, but no one was in the front yard, so we went to the door.
Jericho had two pistols out and aimed at the door as I reached for the knob.
Glass shattered to our left as something large crashed through the window. Jericho and I stood gawking at the broken chair and a hand that had appeared on the window frame. A pair of stocking-clad legs and a skirt held up above the knees stepped over the sill and broken glass. My mother’s head appeared through the window.
“Mother? What are you doing here?”
She jumped, raising her fists, at the sound of my voice. When she saw me, she screeched. I lifted her through the window and away from the glass on the ground.
As I set her feet on the grass, she clutched violently my coat. “Jack, you must do something! Richard brought me here today. Oh, Jack, he has your sister.” She was terrified. I had to get to Bess.
“Mother, take this pistol and run to the back of the house down behind the stables. Frederick and the others will be there soon. Tell them where we have gone, and they will follow us.” I kissed her forehead and gave her a little push toward the side of the house. She disappeared in a run, and I opened the door, ready to kill Richard if he so much as frowned at my sister.
We entered the foyer, and I was motioning for Jericho to go upstairs, when a guard appeared and charged at us. Jericho jumped in front of me, and the two engaged in a bout of fisticuffs.
“Go, Loutaire!” Jericho shouted as he dodged a blow to his nose.
I ran toward the throne room, the pain in my shoulder fading as a woman’s shrill scream, wrought in pure agony, shot through the closed door and struck my heart like a knife’s blade piercing me.
Bess!
Throwing open the door; I raised my pistol and shot the man standing over Bess, who was on the floor. I took a step into the room, ready to kill anyone who stood between me and Richard, when an ominous click sounded behind me as cold steel touched my neck. I stilled in place, raising my hands, but my eyes remained on Richard.
Richard’s face was positively triumphant. I was surprised that he did not clap his hands like a child receiving a new toy. “Mr. Monroe, do come in and join us.”
James? My body stiffened. What is he doing here? Why does he have a gun against my neck?
His hand pushed against my back, forcing me to walk toward Bess, who was now seated on the floor. She was staring up at James. Her face was tear-streaked, and there was a small pool of liquid near her which brought on a fresh wave of grief and anger, but, at the moment, I could do nothing to avenge her pain. Dimitri, who had moved to Bess when I entered, stepped away as the door shut behind us.
“What have we here? Another agent of the Phantoms?” Richard placed his fingertips together. “Brothers of the court, I give you the greatest actor of our time, the man who will lead us to the presidency, Brother Nicholas.”
Mine and Bess’s gaze flew to James.
Levitas’s plan had not been an assassination only; they planned to kill James and replace him with Nicholas, who had been a great actor in England, before debt drove him to flee to America. His one passion had been disguise. He loved the impersonation.
“Come forth, Brother, and take your place. We have dealt with the spy, and now you have captured us another. Your greatness knows no bounds. First, the Phantoms, and next, the Presidency!”
“You overestimate, Richard.” The man impersonating Monroe stepped toward Richard. His deep voice did not belong to Nicholas or to James Monroe. “I believe it is time to tell the Brothers all. Let us begin with your plots that won you the position of high lord of Levitas.” He looked at the men. “You have all heard about the disappearances, which some of you have witnessed in your own homes. All of those disappearances were victims in Richard’s ploy to make himself appear all powerful.”
“A wit as well as a spy. How...amusing.” Richard interrupted, smiling rather grimly.
“Oh, I am not through. Tell them what transpired in your attempt to assassinate James Monroe.”
The look on Richard’s face I would never forget, it sent chills up and down my spine. He looked as if the devil himself were standing there. The members were all watching and listening, some intent, some merely curious.
“Correct me if I am wrong, but your orders were to have the assassins distract the guards in the front, while your real assassin entered through the back. She was to shoot Monroe; his body was to be removed and Nicholas, a talented master of disguise posing as Monroe, would step in.”
Guinevere had entered the house, but so too did Nicholas. He entered the room only moments before Guinevere came in, and thinking he was the real James Monroe, she had shot and killed Nicholas Mansfield.
“If you are not Nicholas, then who are you?” demanded one of the men.
The man who looked remarkably like James Monroe smiled before pulling at his face. Pieces of painted plaster fell from his forehead. He rubbed away paint from his cheeks, pulled off the white wig, and there stood Leo.
He and James Monroe had the same face shapes, height, and build. With the clefts in their chins and their blue eyes, they could have been related. With Leo dressed in a suit with knee breeches, stockings and a powdered wig upon his head, he was a near perfect replica. We had seen Leo wear many disguises, a master of paint and plaster, able to change his every look, but this was his greatest achievement.
“What is this?” demanded Richard, his face a mixture of red and purple.
It was my turn to look triumphant.
When James first suggested this, we had not been sure what Levitas’ plan was. Our only thoughts had been to protect James and draw out Levitas.
When Nicholas had first entered the parlor, I had thought it was Leo, who was supposed to be locked in the library, and when Guinevere shot him, I had panicked, thinking she had killed Leo. I had drawn my gun, but she was faster.
The doors to the throne room opened, and the Phantoms entered, led by Frederick.
“The Phantoms, I presume.” Richard looked at me and Bess. “You may have won this battle, but you have lost the war.” Richard looked at Leo. “Right on all accounts, but one.” Richard sneered. “She was never the assassin. Nicholas was.”
“You are correct, Richard, for once in your life.” I sucked in a sharp breath as all eyes looked to the walkway above. Guinevere stood there dressed in her cloak and mask, but the hood was pushed back away from her auburn hair. “You thought you had won, but you were wrong. By the decree of the Holy Order, I do pronounce Levitas disbanded.”
Alexander Robb and a few of the others shouted against her words. Guinevere disappeared through the door into the hall.
“Loutaire!” someone shouted, and suddenly a body flew against me, knocking us both to the floor as a gun went off.
Frederick rolled off me, shouting, “Junto, follow him!”
/> I sat up wincing at the pain shooting through my shoulder and watched as Leo ran to the door to the left of the platform and kicked it open.
When I was up and reached Bess, I helped her to her feet, seeing the brand on her back. I pushed away all of my deadly rage, for the moment. First, I had to find Guinevere.
“I will take care of Raven, Loutaire,” Frederick said, and for the second time in two minutes, I was thankful for him. I patted him on the shoulder and looked at Bess in silent entreaty. She nodded, so I waited for nothing more. I left the throne room at a run.
In the foyer, I moved to the only door that was shut, the door to the library. Twisting the knob, I pushed my way into the room. Two large hands grabbed my neck, hoisting me into the air. Dimitri’s face was before me as my hands wrapped around his.
Feeling the blood draining out of my face, and hearing it pumping in my ears, spots started to dance before my eyes. I tried to swing my feet and reach for the giant, but his long arms were holding me far enough away that I could not reach him. As I tried to reach my pocket for my pistol, dark flashes blurred my vision, and I felt myself starting to slip away.
“No!” a voice screeched. A gun exploded, but it was not as loud as it should have been.
Dimitri dropped me, and I fell on my back right before his massive body fell on me. Whatever wind still in me was knocked out with the force of Dimitri’s weight. I tried to cough, to gasp for air, but I could do neither.
“Jack!” Her sweet, wonderful voice had spoken from a far away place before her face appeared. Guinevere knelt beside me and grunted as she pushed against Dimitri, rolling him off of me. As the pressure left, I gasped for air.
“Forgive me,” she kept repeating as I coughed and tried to stop the room from spinning.
My shoulder contracted in pain. My throat was on fire. My vision was spinning, and all I could think was that Guinevere had saved my life.
She pressed her lips against my forehead. “Forgive me, Jack,” and then she was gone.
Forgive her? For what?
Slowly I pushed myself up, giving my head a shake, trying to clear the ringing and the throbbing pain. It would not be cleared. Pushing on to my knees, I crawled to the sofa, and used that to pull myself to standing. As I swayed, it struck me. She was fleeing. I had to stop her.
Ignoring as much of the pain as I could, I moved from the room and finally the house. My steps were small and stumbling, but I made it around the house. At the stables, a carriage loaded with baggage and harnessed to a team of horses was waiting by the stable door. When I reached it, I checked inside, but it was empty. Footsteps running on the gravel sounded from the side of the house, so I ducked into the stable, drawing my pistol from my pocket.
“You will not get away so easily,” a man’s voice shouted. Guinevere and Alexander Robb came into view. His hands were on her, and I wanted to destroy him. She accomplished that first. Her gun went off. She dropped it before running toward the carriage, without sparing a glance for the man she had supposedly once been betrothed to.
“See to the horses, quickly!” Guinevere demanded of a plump man who was running behind her. She moved around the carriage, pulled open the door, and I charged out of the stable.
Grabbing her around the waist, I hauled her back and tossed her lightly against the stable wall. She threw a punch, but I caught her fist.
When she realized it was me, all fight drained from her. My bracelet hung from her wrist, bringing a fresh wave of pain to my chest that had nothing to do with my shoulder. I held her against the wall with one hand and raised the other to point my pistol at the coachman who was coming to Guinevere’s aid. He stopped, raising his hands in the air.
“No, please,” Guinevere said, looking at the coachman. He nodded and backed to the horses’ heads.
“Stay right there,” I demanded of the driver. He nodded, so I turned my eyes to Guinevere. “Where are you going?”
“Jack, please,” she said, her voice breaking in the middle.
“Where are you going?” I repeated. Beneath my hand, I could feel the rise and fall of her chest with each breath she took. Her face was pale, and her whole body was shaking.
Horses’ hooves thundered from the front of the house. We both turned to look. Richard was astride a brown horse galloping toward an open field. Another rider came into view, and I quickly sucked in a painful breath.
My mother was riding astride, galloping after Richard. I knew she could ride for she was the one who taught Bess and me, but seeing her chasing Richard gave me a fright. She closed the distance between them. Leaning forward on her horse, she drew something from the saddlebag. When she started swinging a long cord, I knew what she meant to do, for she had done it before.
The three balls of the bolas swung swiftly in the air, and Mother released them. They flew through the air, struck the mark, and wrapped around Richard’s body. He jerked back violently, and his horse reared up. Richard lost his hold and fell.
Guinevere let out a sound much like a whimper. I waited, but Richard did not get up.
Guinevere and I looked at each other. A tear slipped from her eye and moved down her cheek. It was as if she had shot me again, only this time the pain was in my heart. I raised my hand to her face and ran my thumb along her jaw, over her trembling bottom lip, and ended on a tiny mole at the corner of her lips. She jerked away from my hand, pushing past me, and moved to her carriage. I pulled back the hammer on my pistol. She halted.
“Are you going to shoot me, Jack?” she asked without turning to look at me. I cringed at the uncertainty in her voice.
“No, but I cannot let you go.”
“What do you mean to do?”
“I will make you a trade. Tell me where to find the Holy Order, and you may go free.”
She turned her head to look at me, her eyes wide, but her voice calm. “A life for a life?”
My heart felt like it had been ripped out, tossed on the ground and stampeded, but I made myself say, “A life for a life.”
“Weston’s Mercantile. Baltimore.”
“How can I be sure?” I asked harshly, watching every flicker of her eyes, how she held herself rigid with determination.
Pain flashed in her eyes, and for a moment she was again the vulnerable girl that I loved. “I may have kept secrets, but I have never willingly lied to you.”
Taking two steps, I jerked her against me, covering her mouth with mine. I needed her to know, without saying the words, that even though she was the white phantom, and I was Loutaire, I still loved her wholly, unashamedly. Holding her mouth hostage, my lips pressed firm against hers, until she started to respond, her rigid body going soft, compliant. I pushed her back. Her eyes were wide as she stared up at me.
“I must remain here, but when this is all over, I will find you,” I smiled my most roguish, “and you had best be prepared.”
The corner of her lips twitched, and I saw perfectly the excitement dawn in her hyacinth eyes. “I promise you a glorious chase.”
“I would expect nothing less.” I backed against the stable wall.
In a mixture of agony and longing, I watched Guinevere nod to the driver before climbing into the carriage. Her eyes met mine through the window, and she smiled, but there were tears on her soft cheeks. The carriage lurched as it pulled away, taking the most important part of my heart with it.
My mother rode toward me, passing the carriage. As she pulled up, I went to her, helping her to dismount. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. I wrapped my good arm around her, and she sobbed against my shoulder. We stood like that for five minutes, with her sobbing and my trying to whisper encouragement. When the last of her sobs abated, I led her back to the house.
In the throne room, Frederick had everything well in hand. The members of Levitas were bound, and Frederick was speaking to two constables, who had arrived with George, on what would be the best transport for the prisoners.
Bess was sitting on the edge of the platform with Leo
checking her wounds. Mother ran to her. She wrapped her arms around Bess, but when Bess cried out in pain, Mother released her. I joined them, as Mother examined Bess’s back. Tears fell from Mother’s eyes, but she said nothing. Leo informed us that Bess had a serious burn from the brand, some bruised ribs, and a split lip.
“I should take a look at your throat,” Leo said to me, but I shoved his hands away. My throat ached atrociously, but I had no intention of sitting around when there was work to be done. “You are bleeding,” Leo informed me. I looked down, and sure enough, my shoulder was bleeding. I let Leo patch me up as best as he could.
George stormed into the room, his eyes upon my mother. “What were you thinking, Nell? You should never have pursued Richard on your own.”
“It was my duty to right the wrong that Richard has done against our family.”
George was still frowning, but he nodded. Bess asked what she meant. Mother told us that when Richard had discovered my father’s masquerade, Richard poisoned him. Mother’s betrothal to Richard had been a sham. She knew who he was, and she purposely went to Savannah aboard Richard’s ship when she knew he would be sailing there. She charmed him until she snared him. I was unsure what to think or feel, but I knew that she had always wanted to be a Phantom.
Frederick clapped me on my good shoulder. “We have done well this day.”
“Indeed, we have.”
“What of the woman?”
I knew that George’s eyes were upon me, so I forced the words out without a hint of emotion. “She escaped.”
George showed his disappointment, but I did not pay heed as Jericho and one of Frederick’s deputies appeared helping a stumbling Levi into the room.
I moved straight to them, kneeling beside Levi when they sat him on one of the thrones. “Levi, what has happened to you?”
“They thought I was you,” he replied in a raspy voice. “They branded me when I would not turn over the names of our team. Then, today, they whipped me.”
Emotion clogged my throat. I knew without asking why they thought he was Loutaire. Both Nicholas and Guinevere had seen Bess give Levi the glass at the Knowlton’s ball.
I looked away from Levi. I felt grievously to blame for all he had suffered. My eyes fell on a body sagged over in a throne chair on the other wall. The blood on his coat told its own story. Charles Knowlton was no more.
Chapter 34