Phantoms In Philadelphia (11 page)

She shouted and moaned, while beating him over the
head with her fan.

Dudley was immune to everything going on around him
as he knelt before me. I was covering my mouth with my hands as my
laughter bubbled forth. I was not sure what I should be feeling,
for hilarity, mortification, and endearment all surged within me.
Dudley had committed a social blunder, but hearing his corset
creaking was too hilarious, and having him create such a scene to
approach me was oddly touching. When he begged me to dance with
him, I agreed so I could get him away from the other men before
they started a brawl. I helped him to his feet and took his
proffered arm.

After our dance had ended, Dudley and I were
standing together across the room from the men casting Dudley
scathing looks, when Jack joined us.

“What have I missed?” he asked, but I only shook my
head, unable to tell him all lest it made me laugh again.

Jack’s eyes settled on Hannah where she stood across
the room. I watched as she tossed him a saucy smile; one meant to
entice.

“Is everything all right?” I asked near to his
ear.

“Deceit springs from within whilst lies touch her
lips, shadows dance within her eyes, no mercy can eclipse.”

I glanced toward Hannah again. She was smiling up at
Nicholas Mansfield, and it all started to piece together.

Hannah was not only some self absorbed society minx;
she was in some way connected to Nicholas and I was sure,
Levitas.

Bess

T
he
morning after the ball was spent seeing the house put to rights.
Mrs. Beaumont, Mother’s housekeeper, had a book that detailed each
room and what went where. I was holding the book while she directed
the footmen where to place the sofas in the drawing room when I
realized that there were some effects missing––figurines from the
mantle and ormolu clock that had belonged to my father. When the
room was set how Mrs. Beaumont liked, I followed her into the
dining parlor.

“Mrs. Beaumont, you do know that some of my mother’s
possessions are missing.” It was a statement since she had every
list memorized.

She kept her back to me as she worked at
straightening something on the sideboard. She did not respond, so I
laid the book on the table.

“You would tell me if there was
something that I needed to know?”

Her face was strained as she turned. “Yes, miss, of
course.”

My eyes focused on her green ones
for a moment. She had been with our family from the time we first
became Phantoms. My father had hired her to be my etiquette
teacher, but she quickly became so much more. Mother started to
confide in her, and when we moved to Philadelphia, Mother took Mrs.
Beaumont on as housekeeper. I did not know her background, nor did
I ever ask. If my father, who was an untrusting individual while he
lived, trusted Mrs. Beaumont, I had no qualms about trusting her.
She knew of my
gift
of observation. If she lied, I would know it.

“To where do we hail this evening?” Jack asked from
behind, and I turned away from her.

“We are at home this evening. Mama feels we need
time to recover from the party.”

Jack and I went into his library. A tray was on the
low table that was placed on a large rug before the fireplace. Jack
poured me a cup of coffee then one for himself. Coffee had quickly
replaced tea in our favor, as sometimes it was all we had to drink
while on the trail.

Jack sat on the sofa and picked up the stack of
letters lying there. He sliced through them with his silver letter
opener, and I sat across from him so I could watch his face. At the
third letter his brows knit together.

I was feeling anxious; I needed a diversion. Leisure
and I never agreed. Work had always kept my mind occupied; kept the
memories away. “Is there anything for me to do?” I asked.

“Eager to be at work? Your admirers must be doing an
atrocious job of keeping your thoughts engaged,” he replied,
without looking up from his letter.

Disgust rose within me. “Admirers,” I scoffed. “If I
were destitute they would not be such admirable gentlemen. Animals
at heart, every one.”

Jack refolded his letter then picked up his cup,
smiling, his dark brows arching. “Even Dudley?”

I had a fondness for Dudley; he was like another
brother, but it did not go beyond that. Even so, I was both
flattered and amused after his actions at the party. “I will have
you know that Dudley secured my hand for two dances,” I said.

“Your admirers must have left a gap in the circle
surrounding you.”

“Nothing of the sort,” I informed him. “He climbed
between poor Henry Clay’s legs.”

Jack’s head went back against the sofa as he
laughed, the sound filling the whole room.

I tried to look stern. “You may laugh but it was
very shocking.”

“I can believe it, but at least he achieved his
goal.” Jack’s eyes were at their bluest when he laughed.

“After such a display of eagerness I could not deny
him,” I said, smiling, but inside I felt weary. It was like I was
traveling through a maze with no end, forever to be lost and with
each wrong turn the sides were quickly enclosing upon me.

“What is the matter?” Jack asked softly.

He was the one person that I could tell my feelings
to and know that he would not judge me for them, but I did not feel
myself able to confess that I was tired of a life of lies.

Instead, I leaned forward, picking up a leather
bound novel from the low table. I grimaced when I opened it. “How
you can read this drivel I do not know.” I hated poetry with a
passion that Jack found comical. He did not know from whence my
hatred came, so he usually teased me about it. He would not tease
me so if he knew the truth. That Ben used to read poetry to me. My
hatred was not from the words so much as a guard against hearing
anyone else recite it to me. I did not want someone else to take
Ben’s place in my memory.

“It is not as bad as that,” Jack retorted.

“Indeed? Allow me to demonstrate my point.” I
flipped through the book until I found a sonnet that always made me
laugh. “Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers
ever,” I broke off, casting him a haughty look, “though there we
agree.” I went back to the poem. “One foot in sea, and one on
shore, To one thing constant never. Then sigh not so, But let them
go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe
Into Hey nonny, nonny.” I closed the book with a snap, shaking my
head. “If a man quoted that to me, I would laugh in his face.”

“You would not if he were the right man,” Jack
replied as he swiped the book from my hand.

“Trust me, Jack, if he quoted poetry to me, he would
not be the right man.”

Jack smiled but wisely changed the subject. “Have
you plans this day?”

“Nothing pressing.”

“Would you like to call upon Miss Clark with
me?”

I sat up straighter. “Yes, I would. Thank you. It
will give me an excuse to be away should anyone call upon me.”

Jack laughed.

***

At one that afternoon,
we were standing on the brick sidewalk before Miss
Clark’s house on Pine Street. It was a two story row house like all
the other houses in the neighborhood; shabby genteel and not at all
the kind of house that most members of society lived in. From the
happy look on Jack’s face, it mattered naught to him where she
lived as long as she allowed him to visit her. He was smiling up at
the second story windows. I followed his gaze and saw a flash of
auburn hair move away from the window.

Jack used the small brass knocker to sound our
arrival. I hunched down into my long coat as a cold wind whipped
against us. May had been unusually frosty this year.

After only a moment, the door swung open, and Miss
Clark’s chaperone stood there smiling at us. “Welcome, Mr. and Miss
Martin. Please come this way.”

Jack followed the woman, but I moved slower,
examining the foyer. It was narrow enough that I could have touched
both walls by stretching out my arms. There were three doors that
led off the foyer and a narrow staircase. The stout woman never
offered to take our hats or gloves before she bustled out of the
parlor with the promise to fetch Miss Clark, and wiggled up the
stairs

“Well, she is certainly an oddity,” I said, watching
until the woman disappeared from my sight.

Jack was not paying the slightest heed to me. His
eyes were fixed on the stairs.

The parlor was a small square room with bare walls
and little furniture. The small fire burning in the grate was the
only thing to make the room quaint.

Voices floated down the stairs, the
deep voice of the stout woman, then a melodious sound that could
only be Miss Clark. Hearing her voice, Jack sighed, and I stared at
him agape. I wanted to slap some common sense into him. What was
there about her that could possibly make him
sigh
? It was so out of character for
him that I briefly entertained the notion that he had been
bewitched.

As she entered the parlor, she was smiling at Jack
as if it had been longer than last night that she had seen him. For
a painfully awkward moment, they would only gaze at each other. I
cleared my throat.

Miss Clark was the first to look away. “Martha
should have taken your hats. I do apologize.”

Jack had his off in seconds, holding it out to her,
but I removed mine with more decorum. She asked us to be seated.
There were only two chairs and one sofa in the small parlor, so I
sat beside Miss Clark while Jack angled his chair to face us.

Their eyes locked again, and I was forgotten. I
allowed this to go on for a full minute, but no more.

“Miss Clark, is Martha your guardian?”

She was not in the least shamefaced about ignoring
me to stare at my brother when her eyes met mine. “Oh, no, Martha
is my chaperone. My guardian does not yet have a house in the city,
so I am living here with Martha until he acquires one.”

Her words brought a memory back to
me, of a different person saying something
similar
.

“In truth, my guardian is Richard,” she said.

Jack’s eyes widened, but he did not take his
worshipful gaze from her. My chest grew tightly. It was as I
feared. This delightful girl was going to steal my brother’s heart.
Especially now that we were in a way connected.

“I am surprised that he did not tell you himself. He
may not have wanted it known. I give him plenty of trouble; I
assure you.”

I do believe that.
“Well, this is unexpected,” I said, but I was not
heeded.

What was it with those two that made them want to
gaze longingly into each other’s eyes? It was enough to make one
sick, or vexed.

When Miss Clark finally looked at me, she said, “I
have heard that you are a great horsewoman, Miss Martin. Perhaps
when we take that ride, we could pit our skills against one
another.”

“Perhaps we shall, Miss Clark, but I assure you that
my skill has been exaggerated. I am nothing above average.”

“Can we count on you to join us, Mr. Martin?”

The look she cast Jack was full of
the right amount of pleading without looking ridiculous. I was
beginning to believe she
had
bewitched him, and when he agreed, I knew it for
truth. It was known that Jack did not like to ride, another mask to
hide the truth, but one that protected our secret. This was not
something I could agree with, but I would save that for
home.

Jack and Miss Clark began to converse easily, about
books of all things, when I thought to ask, “Miss Clark, do you
know Mr. Mansfield well?”

Jack scowled at me, but Miss Clark replied,
“Unfortunately, yes.” She made a face of dislike. “He was the
captain of one of Richard’s merchant ships until recently. Why he
has moved to Philadelphia, I do not know. I would have thought he
would have gone home to England.”

“England?” I asked with great interest.

“His mother owns a theater or some such thing, and
Mr. Mansfield was known to tread the boards before joining the
fight.”

“He fought for the
British
?” Jack asked,
doing a convincing job of sounding incredulous. It was humorous
considering that we were born in England.

“As I said, unfortunately, yes. He defected at the
end when the fighting is nearly over.”

“You are forthright,” I said with a laugh.

She inclined her head. “A rule that I live by.”

When half an hour was coming to an end, we rose to
take our leave. As she walked us to the front door, she mentioned
riding again.

“What day do you suggest?" I asked kindly.

“At the moment, I am unsure. Shall I let you
know?”

“Please do. We look forward to it. Do we not,
John?”

“Indeed we do,” he said as he bowed.

We left the house, and as our carriage had not yet
returned, we decided to walk down the street together. We had
reached the street corner when we heard a man shout from behind
us.

“What do you mean she will not see me?”

I looked over my shoulder then turned completely
around. Nicholas Mansfield was standing before Miss Clark’s door
facing Martha. I could not hear her reply, but she started to close
the door in his face. I half expected him to shove his way into the
house, but he did not. Grabbing Jack’s arm, we turned so that our
backs were to him as he marched toward us. He passed us without a
look and crossed the street. I waited until he was half down the
next row of houses before following.

“What do you think you are doing?” Jack
demanded.