Phantoms In Philadelphia (29 page)

I sensed more than saw that she was
smiling. As fireworks burst in the sky and bells rung from the
streets, a gunshot reverberated off the walls of the alley
knocking chips of brick to the ground.

The large man stepped back with his hand moving to
his chest before he fell like a chopped tree. What she carried was
no mere dagger. Attached to the blade was a small pistol. I had
heard of such devices, but never until that moment had I seen one
used.

I stayed completely still in the
shadows, waiting, but she did not move toward me. Instead, she
moved toward the far end without a backward glance. When she was
out of view, I bent and picked up her weapon; an iron rod, thick
and sturdy. I followed her out of the alley up 3rd Street and onto
Spruce Street. She stopped on the street right before my house; her
gaze fixed upon a light illuminating one of the windows—my
bedchamber window. Leo was waiting up for me to return as he
usually did.

Guinevere took two steps toward the
house as if she
was going to go up to the
door and knock or let herself in. She paused and turned away. I was
about to step out of the shadows to follow her, when she stopped
again and looked back at my house. She pressed her fingers to her
lips and released them toward the house. Everything within me
stumbled into a land where dreams and nightmares
collided.

She loves me.
She had to. It was the only explanation for such an action.
The truth of it made my stomach churn; it was as if a jagged knife
ripped up the center of my heart. The woman that I loved, loved me
in return.

Longing engulfed me. I wanted to run to her, give
her a good shake, then hold her in my arms, kissing away my own
confusion and hurt. The realization that she would probably try to
shoot me if she knew that I was following her and had witnessed her
actions caused a physical ache. I had to see her to safety though,
and then I would have time to sort out my feelings.

Thankfully that was where she went. I waited until
the door closed behind her before walking home in a numb state of
mind. Guinevere. The white phantom. The words echoed through my
mind. When I finally reached home, Leo was there to let me in.

I motioned for him to follow me
into the library, and I enclosed us in the room. “Wake Jericho and
take the wagon to the alley three houses down at
Cypress and 3rd. There you will find the bodies of
three deceased men. Dispose of them without anyone seeing you. At
once!”

Leo stared at me for a moment, but said nothing as
he left the room. I walked to the window and laid my forehead
against the cold glass closing my eyes. It was as if my mind would
not comprehend all that I had seen and heard. What should I be
feeling? I did not know. I was too stunned to feel anything.
Replaying in my head what she had done, caused an appreciation of
her self defense to rise within me, and to think that I was going
to offer her the protection of my name. I scoffed bitterly. Clearly
she did not need my protection.

With the realization dawned, an unconquerable gulf
formed in my chest. If she were truly the white phantom, I could
not marry her. Of all the women in the world, I fell for the one
that I could never have.

Sleep evaded me, and I sat up in my chair until
after the sun rose. My mind was full of Guinevere, of the men she
killed, how I could have been so close to her, kissed her, and not
known that she was the white phantom. My mind tortured me,
replaying all the times I had fought the white phantom, placing
Guinevere’s face where there had been only a mask. My God, the
woman lit a fire within me!

When I heard boots on the foyer floor, I did not
turn from watching the window.

“Is all right, Jack?” Jericho asked from the
door.

“Come in and close the door.” I heard it click shut
as I stood and turned toward Jericho. “What news have you?”

“We have dealt with,” he paused, lowering his voice,
“the deceased.”

“Very good.” I was too exhausted to inquire more, so
I dismissed him.

Once seated upon the sofa, I sank my head into my
hands and stayed that way. For the past seven hours I had tried to
sort through my feelings but I had no more clarity than I did when
I saw Guinevere kill those men. I was near to bursting in my need
to figure out what I should do when a hand touched my shoulder.

“Are you feeling well, Jack? You look positively
morose.”

“What need you, Bess?” I asked without looking
up.

“I am unsure if I should speak if you are
unwell...”

I raised my head to look at her. “I assure you I am
well.”

Bess smiled almost shyly. “I wanted to inform you
that Andrew wants to call upon you this day. When he visited
yesterday, he mentioned that he would seek an interview with
you.”

I could not ignore the pink
tingeing her cheeks or her look of utter joy. Bess deserved
happiness, but Harvey’s words were fresh
in
my mind, and I had yet to receive a report from Levi about Andrew’s
doings.

“So then you know your own heart?” I asked, watching
her face closely.

She nodded, holding my gaze with her own. “Yes, I
opened my heart as you instructed, and I am content.”

“Then I shall hear the man out that I promise.” I
offered a smile, but it had the effect of bringing Bess to my side
and laying her hand against my brow.

“Are you sure you are well, Jack?”

I wished people would stop asking me if I was well.
How could I possibly be? I blurted out, “No, I am not well. The
woman I love is nothing but a selfish murderer.”

Bess

W
hat do
you mean?” I asked. I had suspected he was in love with Guinevere,
but I had not heard him confess as much. How could she possibly be
a selfish murderer? Unless it was some kind of poetic nonsense
where she was a murderer of his heart or emotions.

“Last night I saw the real white phantom at work,”
Jack said, his watchful gaze on me.

“I do not understand. Wait, did Guinevere murder
Hannah?” I could not see that, but the look on Jack’s face told me
he was in earnest. Perhaps, it was self defense. It had to be. I
knew Guinevere a little; she may be passionate, but I was sure she
was neither selfish nor a murderer.

“Hannah is alive as far as I know, and she is no
more the white phantom than you.”

If she’s not—that means—“Oh, Jack,
no!” I lowered myself into the closest chair, horrified.

Jack told me about following
Guinevere, at first, because he thought she was some woman who
might need protection, and then, hearing the ruffians call her the
white phantom—the name Jack had given her. That begged the
question, how did they know of that name? Jack was still retelling
the events from the previous night, so I tried to listen. Guinevere
killed those three men in the alley, and then Jack picked up her
iron.

I could not begin to fathom how he must have been
feeling. “What will you do?”

“That is the question I have been asking myself, but
I have yet to strike a conclusion.”

Resting my chin on my hand, I wanted to tell him
that everything would work out, but I was not sure of that myself.
The first time he fell in love, it had to be with a female
assassin. Why could she not have been some needy damsel who only
sought adventure through books? A dangerous wrath rose inside
me.

Guinevere had
shot
my brother. He was on point when
he called her a selfish murderer. As his elder sister and his
leader, he needed me to show him how true his words were, but
how?

A knock fell upon the front door, and Jack and I
both turned. Arnaud opened the door, and Andrew entered. Joy
fluttered in my chest as I sat up straight.

“Good morning, Mr. and Miss
Martin.” Andrew smiled dimples, and all. He was certainly in a
cheery mood.

I had not expected him to call so early, but that
was something that I admired about him for he was not one to let an
opportunity pass him by. He asked Jack to take a drive with him,
and I could tell that Jack wanted to refuse, but I begged him with
my look. He nodded acceptance and asked Andrew to allow him time to
change his raiment.

After Jack had gone upstairs, Andrew and I had a few
minutes alone, but he said nothing as he stood near the door and
watched me. We often sat in silence, his eyes always watchful,
until one of us could think of something to say, but I did not mind
the silence, usually. We had not kissed again since the Harvey’s
party, but he was always watching me.

“How is the weather today,” I asked inanely.

Andrew stepped closer. “I heard that there was ice
as thick as a windowpane in the country this morning. It was
certainly cold enough last night to make it so.” That was the
extent of our conversation.

After I had seen Jack and Andrew
out of the house, I sat
alone in the
library. Jack’s problem came rushing back like an abundant rain. I
contemplated all the ways I could do Guinevere a mischief for the
first five minutes, but that accomplished nothing but a momentary
satisfaction. I wanted to put fear into her conniving heart; to let
her know that her time was limited. Then an idea, something above
and beyond, struck me. The language of flowers. I would send her a
warning in a bouquet of flowers. I would wrap the bouquet around
the iron and include a black feather, the mark of the Phantoms.
When she picked up the bouquet, she would know that the Phantoms
saw her at work. I ran up the stairs, nearly colliding with
Leo.

“Forgive me, Leo. But, I am glad you are here. Jack
brought home an iron that I need you to find. It will be either in
the library or his chamber. Thank you.” I did not wait for a reply
as I went into my chamber where Mariah helped me to dress in my
work clothes. I removed my wig and handed it to her and tied my
shoulder-length hair back, tucking it under a black cap.

Mariah brought out a tray of hair. She mixed some
paste and dabbed it along my upper and lower lips. She
strategically placed hair, combing it until it was how she liked.
Looking in the mirror, I nodded. After I was dressed in all black,
I stepped out of my chamber as Leo was coming down the hall with
the black iron held out before him.

“Perfect!” I snatched the iron from between his
fingers. It was ten inches in length and solid. I took it down to
the drawing room and locked it in the secretaire and left the house
through the back door. Half an hour later, I was in the middle of
the city flower market that had vendors selling different
assortments of stems. There was even a hothouse for more rare
blooms. I moved from vendor to vendor choosing stems.

The language of flowers was a way to send a hidden
message, for every flower had a meaning. My mother had been taught
about the language of flowers when my parents had lived in England
before we immigrated to America. She started instructing me when I
was twelve, and for years we worked to understand the different
meanings. I was determined to weave a message that, if Guinevere
understood the hidden meanings of flowers, would put dread in her
heart. The thought of it made my step lighter.

Plucking stems from the flower
carts; I mentally examined each one. Begonia to beware, anemones
meant forsaken, nettle for cruelty, marigold for grief, snapdragon
for presumption, a yellow carnation was for disappointment,
and
fern for secrecy. After paying for the
flowers, I walked home. I went in to the kitchen, receiving stares
of astonishment. Our cook and housekeeper were not happy to see me
in my work clothes, but I ignored the women.

Mariah went to fetch the iron and
something else that I required while I went to work arranging the
flowers so the message would be clear. When Mariah brought me the
iron, I wrapped the flowers around it. When I had them positioned,
the meaning was: Guinevere should beware; her cruelty and
presumption in disappointing will lead only to grief, for she was
now forsaken because of her secrecy. I signed it with the black
feather of the Phantoms. I wrapped the stems with a black ribbon
and stepped back, pleased with my work. Even if Guinevere could not
read the message, seeing the feather and the iron would be message
enough.

A voice in the servants’ hall made me look up, and a
familiar face appeared.

“Levi! Just the person I need,” I said, unable to
keep the delight from my voice.

I grabbed Levi’s hand and pulled him to Mrs.
Beaumont’s writing desk that was in the corner of the servants’
dining room. Pushing him down on the desk chair, and instructing
him to write Miss Clark’s name on one side of the card and white
phantom on the other side, my excitement grew. Levi did as he was
instructed, and I tucked the card snugly into the bouquet where it
would be visible.

Examining the bouquet, I exclaimed, “Perfection! Now
I must go.”

Levi’s hand shot out grabbing my own as I was
turning to leave. “Where are you off to, Raven?”

“I have a message to deliver. Jack is out with Mr.
Madison, so if you have a message for him, you must wait or return
later.”

Mariah was in the hall with the mask that I had sent
her to fetch. After putting it on and ignoring Mariah’s laughter, I
left the house.

Walking toward Guinevere’s house, I had some time to
reflect. Guinevere deserved the message, but I could not tell Jack
what I had done; at least not yet. As fresh as his feelings were,
he would be angry.

I approached Guinevere’s house by
the back door that was down a small alley. The door opened to a
square kitchen that was empty. I moved through the kitchen to the
door that led into a small foyer. I heard Martha in the little
dining parlor, but her back was to me. On the second floor, I found
Guinevere’s bedchamber, which was
not
difficult for the white cloak thrown over a small chair.
Restraining the urge to toss the cloak into a fire—if there had
been one lit, I would have done so—I looked around.