The Adventures of the Crimson Blade - Prologue

The Green Room, Radio Station WENN, February 1942

Betty Roberts sighed as she listened to The Crimson Blade, one of the shows they broadcast on radio station WENN. Maple LaMarsh sat with her in the green room. She was studying her script for Amazon Andy, which she would be performing after Hilary Booth's Woman's View on the News. “I'm really disappointed this is our last episode. It was a fun show to write.”

Maple nodded. “And the worst thing is, you ended on three cliffhangers. The Crimson Blade and the Jack Carleton the English spy told Lady Deborah she had to choose between them, Deb's maid proposed to the Crimson Blade's sidekick, and the governor’s wife said she's married to someone else!” She tossed her script aside. “Do you know how the show woulda worked out?”

Betty turned off the radio. “Well, the sidekick and the maid would get married, but not right away.” She turned to Maple with a thoughtful smile. “The Governor’s wife was married to The Crimson Blade, but it was all part of a scheme to pull the wool over the eyes of the evil Baron Dimsley. The Governor’s wife just said that to get the governor off her back.”

“And,” she sighed and traced a scratch in the old coffee table, “I have no idea whom Lady Deborah would have chosen. She probably would have told both men to leave her alone and give her a couple of weeks to decide.” She shrugged. “I really liked both characters. The Crimson Blade was handsome and charming, but he was also a criminal of sorts. Jack was noble and intelligent, but he was so wrapped up in his work, he barely gave Lady Deb the time of day.”

Maple chuckled at the last description. “That sounds like two guys I know.” She sighed. “I wish Victor hadn't gone to Washington and Scotty wasn't at basic training. This place has been kind of quiet without them coming up with ideas every other minute. And Eugenia and Mr. Foley have been busy planning their wedding.” She leaned back in the couch. “You know...maybe we could still finish this.”

Betty looked up, surprised. “What do you mean?”

Maple turned to Betty. “Do it as a special, or a 'movie on the airwaves' thing. Kind of like that 'When In Rome' show you did a while back, but it wouldn't last for 52 hours.” She flipped through her script. “We could punch things up a little here and there. Why do the guys have to be in love with some fancy dame, anyway? What if they fell for normal workin' gals, like us?”

Betty made a face. “That doesn't sound very romantic to me.”

“You'd be surprised what guys go for,” chuckled Maple. “Just ask Errol Flynn.” She paged through her Amazon Andy script. “You know...some of this might work for 'The Crimson Blade.' Those shows have a lot in common. We could still have nobles, but maybe they're the good guys. The Governor could be the bad guy. The Baron and his wife are the good guys. ” Maple's eyes got dreamy. “And the spy could be somethin' a little less...obvious. Maybe just a normal guy who gets wrapped up in more government stuff than he can handle. Someone tall, an' sweet, an' a looker, but really, really smart. Just not smart enough to avoid the villain.”

Betty moved to the couch with Maple. “Well, we could try something like that....”

The Adventures of the Crimson Blade 1

The Road Just Outside of Pittsburgh Village, Pennsylvania, August 1773

The small, dark wooden coach bounced along the rutted roadway. Elizabeth Roberts leaned back into the faded cushions on the seats. It was late in the evening of her third day of traveling. She had left her home on the small farm near the border of Pennsylvania and New York to accept a job in the bustling Pittsburgh Village. She'd sent a story to a contest in the city and had received ten dollars and a summons to the Monongahela Inn and Theater. Evidently, the gentleman who judged the contest ran the Inn and wrote the plays the theater performed.

Her mind was drowsily watching the trees go by. This was the furthest she'd ever gone from home. She wasn't frightened at all, despite her mother's warnings about unsafe water and the dangerous roadways. “They're filled with highwaymen!” Caroline Roberts had fretted. “Not to mention all that talk of revolution. Who knows what my try to harm you out there?” She'd reassured her mother that she would be fine.

Now that it was getting dark, she wasn't as sure. The other people in the coach were an older couple and a portly man who slept most of the way. She knew they'd never be able to defend themselves if they were attacked. She shook her head, trying to concentrate on the adventure before her.

She was just dozing off when the coach jolted to a sudden stop. They were all thrown to the floor. Elizabeth managed to make her way through the tangle of legs, stockings, and petticoats and peer outside. “Oh my goodness,” she gasped, “I think we're being robbed!”

The coach was surrounded by a group of at least five people on horseback. They were clad all in black, from the hoods that covered most of their heads to their gloves and stockings. One, tall and surprisingly shapely, held a gun on the frightened coach driver. Elizabeth could just see a little coppery-red peeping out of their mask.

Another man had just pulled them all out as the sixth rider climbed off his enormous chestnut stallion. He was big and impressive, with dark glittering eyes and a broad chest that easily filled out the bright crimson shirt he wore. A belt of the same crimson was tied around his waist. Otherwise, he was dressed the same as the others, with the same concealing hood.

“Ahh, lads, what have we got here today?” The words were barely intelligible, thanks to a heavy (and Elizabeth though, rather overdone) Irish accent. “Not the finest raid we made on this stretch 'o road, but the best lookin' to be sure!” He turned to her with a mocking bow. “And what be your name, oh fair maiden?”

Elizabeth shoved the had that reached for her purse away. “My name is Elizabeth Roberts, and I'm on my way to the Monongahela Inn in Pittsburgh Village. I demand you release us, before the King's guards come along and put you all in jail!” She put her hands on her hips. “I told you my name, but I don't know yours.”

He bowed again, this time much lower. “My name is the Crimson Blade, if tis pleases my lady.”

“No, it doesn't.” She got closer to him. “You're nothing but a thief and a scoundrel. Preying on innocent travelers! You should be hung for this!”

The Crimson Blade looked up as the sound of horses could be heard on the road behind them. He pulled out a large silver pocket watch. “Oh, would you look at the time?” He turned to the other men. “Leave them their jewels and money.” Elizabeth thought she saw an intrigued smile under the hood.

The Crimson Blade gently took her hand and kissed it. “I couldn't harm ye, my beautiful maid. You've got real fire in ye.” His voice grew husky. “I like that in a lass. I only regret we canna spend more time together.”

She gazed into his velvety eyes. “Perhaps...if you weren't a criminal...”

She didn't have the time to finish the thought. His people were already starting to ride off. He kissed her hand again, then leaped onto his stallion and followed them down the road.

The trio of riders were headed by a tall man in a simple but elegant gray suit. He stopped his horse before Elizabeth. “Mistress Roberts?”

She frowned. “Yes? Please tell me you're not a robber, too!”

He shook his head. “Not at all, Mistress Roberts. Actually, my name is Victor Comstock. Mr. Bloom and Lord Singer and I noticed those brigands and thought you might have been in some distress.”

“We were in trouble,” said the plump man. “That Crimson Blade almost robbed us! He would have gotten away with it, if it wasn't for the courage of this young lady here.”

Elizabeth blushed. “I was angry and not thinking clearly. I'm lucky he didn't hurt me!”

Victor Comstock nodded. “I'm glad all seems to be well. You're extremely lucky we were just returning from a trip to Philadelphia and happened to be riding this way.” He smiled at Elizabeth. “Would you permit us to be your escort, Mistress Roberts? It would make up for this unfortunate and unhappy incident.”

She returned his smile and took his hand. “I'd like that, sir.”

He got off his horse to help her into the carriage. “May I be so forward to ask where you are bound, Mistress Roberts?”

“Pittsburgh Village,” she explained as she leaned out the window of the coach. “I won a writing contest. I'll be living and working at the Monongahela Inn.”

“By some unusual quirk of fate, I too work at the Inn. I was the one who judged the contest many months ago.” He nodded. “Your work requires a great deal of polish, Miss Roberts. It is, however, not lacking in substance. Perhaps we could discuss our mutual fondness for the written word when you arrive at the Inn?”

She nodded. “Oh yes, I'd like that very much!”

Elizabeth didn't know that there were several pairs of eyes watching the carriage as it rolled along. “Why did you let them go?” asked the tall, shapely robber in a voice that was very French and very, very feminine.

The Crimson Blade looked down the road where the coach had gone. “Did you see her?” he asked, almost in a daze. “She was amazing! Beautiful, smart as a whip, courageous...”

“May I remind you we're outlaws? She's a writer. And she already has friends.”

One of the men shook his shoulder. “Remember Boston? Pruitt's there. Some kind of audience with the governor of Massachusetts. He's the real target.”

The Crimson Blade could only smirk a little. “So I'll pay court to the lovely Miss Roberts when I return.” He chuckled. “Very exciting!”

The Porch of the Monongahela Inn, Pittsburgh Village, Pennsylvania Colony, February 1774

Two figures were silhouetted by the waning moonlight. Elizabeth Roberts, who lived at the Monongahela Inn, held head innkeeper Victor Comstock close to her. “Oh Victor,” she said softly, “why do you have to leave us? Everyone at the Inn is going to miss you so!”

He looked down gently at her. “Does that statement happen to include you?”

“Of course.” She smiled, glad it was too dark for him to see her blushing. “Do you really think I can manage the Inn and write pieces for the Pittsburgh Daily Gazette? It's a big job...”

“You'll have the other residents at the Inn to help you, Mackie and Lady Hilary and Lord Jeffrey. Even if the latter duo consider themselves above such things as performing routine kitchen tasks.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Why does the government need you so badly? Can't they get someone closer to Boston?”

“I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say. It's very top secret. I only know we cannot abide the constant chipping away of our inalienable rights any longer.” He handed her the keys to the Inn. “These are yours now. I know you'll run the Inn with the same principals I once did.”

Elizabeth watched him silently as he walked off into the dark night. He'll be home in a few weeks. Until then...all I can do is wait.

The Green Parlor Room of the Monongahela Inn, a Few Weeks Later

Elizabeth Roberts was feeling quite content. Well, she would have been more content if Victor Comstock had remained at the Inn. She was currently working on a serial story about a woman who was in love with two men, one a scoundrel, the other a shy nobleman. McKinley Bloom, or “Mackie,” as everyone called him, was reading the Daily Gazette with Thomas Eldridge, a kindly old man who had been at the Inn so long, most people claimed he came with the building. Gertrude Reece, the cook and housekeeper, brought them their slices of chicken pudding for lunch. Mackie was Hilary's fellow actor who also acted as the Inn's valet between jobs.

Mackie grinned as he looked over the front page. “Did you guys see today's headline? The Crimson Blade pulled off another big con job. He and his people stole three thousand dollars' worth of jewelry and cash from Governor Pruitt and his right-hand woman, right under their noses. They were dressed as wandering gypsies who told fortunes. Pruitt upped the price on his head to ten thousand dollars.”

Mr. Eldridge looked confused. “He stole their noses out from under them? Wouldn't that make it awfully hard to smell anything?”

Gertrude shook her head. “He means the Crimson Blade somehow managed to steal a lot of money without anyone knowing.” She let out a wistful sigh. “Oh, to meet a man like the Crimson Blade! I'll bet he's as dashing and handsome as a character from one of Elizabeth's stories.”

Mackie snorted. “If it's even a he. No one knows what the Crimson Blade looks like. The descriptions in the Daily Gazette are always different. Sometimes, they say he's tall. Sometimes, he's short. Once, they said he had red hair. Another time, it was dark.”

“You guys are no fun at all,” sniffed Cecilia, the pretty blond maid, as she polished the silver teaspoons. “I think he's handsome and young and ready to sweep a girl off her feet at a moment's notice.”

“Who is?” Lady Hilary Booth swept into the main room. She and her husband Lord Jeffery Singer had once been wealthy nobles in England. They were driven to the colonies by some scandal neither of them wished to discuss. They now lived at the Inn and sometimes performed plays there in return for room and board. Lady Hilary always wore elaborate gowns and hats and jewelry. The blue satin gown she sported that morning was so wide, she had a hard time getting it through the door.

“The Crimson Blade.” Mackie handed her the newspaper. “He's at it again. He just stole a thousand clams from Governor Pruitt on the road to Pittsburgh Village.”

Lady Hilary made a face. “I can't believe this man is allowed to run wild like this. Why doesn't someone bring him to justice? Isn't ten thousand dollars enough to convince them?”

Cecilia looked shocked. “Beg your pardon, Your Ladyship, but...why would you want them to? He's so romantic!”

“I can think of many things that are far more romantic than having your jewelry stolen and being humiliated by some phantom that no one has ever seen.”

Elizabeth stood up, stretching. “I've been working on this story all morning. I need a walk. Cecilia, if you see any new apprentices trembling in the parlor, would you send them to me at the front desk, please?”

There was, in fact, a man standing at the front desk when Elizabeth arrived there. He was ruggedly handsome, with large, velvety brown eyes, hair as black as night and streaked with silver, and a broad, strong countenance. He wore a fancy red suit with lots of braiding. His cheeky grin spread from ear to ear as she took her place behind the desk. His eyes seemed a bit familiar to her, but she couldn't place them. “May I help you, sir?”

“Sure!” He sat on the counter, positioning himself so he could look directly into her eyes. “Is this what they call the front desk?”

She raised her eyebrows at his forward manner, not to mention the slight Irish accent. “We do all right with it.” She frowned. “Are you looking for a room, sir? We have a one available on the second floor with an excellent view of the river.”

“Nahh, I have my own place down by the docks.” He held out a hand to her. “Scott Sherwood, lass. And I'm going to guess that you're Elizabeth Roberts.”

She shook the hand. “That's usually what people call me. What aspect of working at an Inn most interests you?”

“It doesn't.” Scott chuckled. “I don't like staying in one place for too long. The longest I've ever lived anywhere was when I was stranded off the coast of Africa for three months after my ship went down in storm.”

Elizabeth shook her head. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Well, sir, we're really looking for someone with more interest in the Inn and working in the hospitality industry...”

Scott's grin widened. “Oh, but you can't fire me, Liz. I'm your new manager.”

Elizabeth's eyes widened. “You are?”

He handed her a paper. “Here's my references, a letter direct from Victor Comstock himself. I'm an old friend of his. He's told me so much about you.”

“What about me?”

“Oh, things you'd hate knowin' I heard. Now, why don't we round up the rest of the staff, and I'll introduce myself?”

The Parlor Room of the Monongahela Inn, Later that Day

All of the residents and servants of the Inn gathered in the large parlor room with the green wallpaper. Miss Eugenia Bremer and Mr. Foley were musicians who gave lessons for local children out of their room. Lord Jeffery Singer put his arm around his sort-of wife Hilary. He was tall and slender, with angular cheekbones and attractively tousled chestnut curls. Mr. Eldridge and Gertrude sat in one corner, chatting about the new manager. Cecilia dusted in another corner...but she stood close enough to the others to hear everything that was said.

Scott strolled right in, followed by Elizabeth. “Scott Sherwood, everyone,” he said cheerfully. “I was sent here by my good pal Victor Comstock to take over the running of this Inn. He told me to do anything I could to get this little Inn out of the red and into the black.”

Mackie frowned. “Uh, does that mean any immediate...changes?”

Scott grabbed a wooden chair and sat on it backwards. “Sure! I've been working on some ideas that could really put this little inn on the map. Fort Pitt is expanding. More people are moving here from Philly and the south every day. They're gonna need a place to stay while they find jobs, and this will be the first Inn anyone thinks of.” His grin got even bigger. “Very exciting!”

The Garden Behind the Monongahela Inn, Late That Night

A single candle illuminated the room where Elizabeth Robertson lived. Elizabeth often stayed up late at night, working on a story. Right now, she was having problems. She just couldn't decide whether her heroine should end up with the reformed scoundrel or the nobleman.

That was when she heard something moving in the garden. She softly moved to the window. A breeze rustled the faded calico curtains. The moonlight illuminated what appeared to be a figure in black, carrying a bag. The bag looked like it was burlap and lumpy; something lustrous hanging out of the top shined in the waning light.

Another figure appeared. This was was fairly tall and a little more slender. They exchanged some quick words. Elizabeth tried to hear them, but all she caught was “plan,” “money,” and “hide.” The taller one leaned over and gave the other a quick hug before they took off in opposite directions.

Elizabeth grabbed her shawl, threw it over her nightgown, and crept downstairs. The Inn looked dark and almost spooky in the velvet night. She tip-toed around where Mr. Eldridge snored in a chair by the fireplace, looking for whomever that was who had been outside. What if it was the Crimson Blade, or some thief? She immediately admonished herself for her wild imagination. They had little money or valuables, nothing that would attract a thief or the roguish “Crimson Blade.”

What would the Crimson Blade want with us, anyway? We're just some little Inn in a small village in the middle of nowhere. We're barely breaking even! She sighed. It's too bad, though. He sounds sort of like Robin Hood. Doing good things...but remaining a thief and a scoundrel.

She made her way into the main room. Her eye was caught by a painting of Victor Comstock by the fireplace. He looked dapper in his fancy blue uniform. The Crimson Blade isn't like Victor. Victor was noble and good and kind. He wouldn't do something like dressing as gypsies or stealing from the Governor himself... “Oof!”

“Hey, watch the traffic, lady!”

Elizabeth rubbed her nose. “Goodness, you're hard-headed! What are you doing up so late, Scott?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Liz.”

“I thought I heard voices outside.”

Scott smirked. “Are you sure? Or did you just have a secret rendezvous with some dashing English army officer? Elizabeth Roberts, I am shocked!”

“Scott, I really did hear voices! There were two people outside. I heard them talking. One carried a big bag. They might have been thieves! We can afford to lose the day's take. We can barely afford to feed the staff and residents as it is.”

“Well, if there were any thieves lurking around, they're gone now. It's nothing but us night owls.” He took Elizabeth's arm. “May I accompany you to your bedroom, Mistress Roberts?”

“Yes, but that's all you're doing. This isn't an engraved invitation.”

“I'll be a perfect gentleman.” They strolled up the stairs together. It wasn't until she was back in her room, snuggled under her covers, that Elizabeth remembered Scott never did say what he was doing downstairs.

Pittsburgh Village Fair, Outside at the Village Square, Two Weeks Later

Elizabeth helped Scott line chairs in neat rows. “Are you sure about this? I've never had one of my stories actually performed before.”

Scott's roguish grin spread across his face. “Aw, come on, Lizzie! This will be great! Every business in Pittsburgh Village is setting up something for the Spring Festival. It's the biggest event in the Pennsylvania Colony. It'll really put us on the map!”

She sighed as she set up the last seat. “I will say this is an improvement over some of your ideas. What in heaven's name made you think we could turn the inn into a general store? We aren't salesmen!”

He went to the makeshift stage and set a wooden tree upright. “The residents seemed to like the idea when I put it out to them. Become a branch of Broomes Brothers' General Store and receive a ten percent commission on every jug of molasses and bolt of fabric sold. It would have worked if they hadn't deducted the cost of setting everything up from everyone's pay.”

Elizabeth tied the red curtain to a rod. “At least this is legitimate. Mr. Devere, who owns the stationary shop down the street, seemed really excited about having a play at the fair.”

“Excited enough to pony up the money for the fancy costumes and scenery, anyway.” He turned to her. “Piece of cake!”

“I just wish Lord Jeffrey hadn't gone to Boston to help Victor. Things are really tense there right now, what with all those Intolerable Acts and that “tea party” they had last year. Lady Hilary is worried sick, and now we're short on help, too.”

Scott put an arm around Elizabeth. “We have Mackie and Hilary and Cecilia to play the little boy and his friends who got lost and found themselves at the fair. I liked the part about them being attacked by an evil old witch who tries to take the boy's special trinket away.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I hope it works out. The others were complaining about it not being very glamorous.”

“Who cares about glamorous as long as people come to see it?” He picked up a stack of posters. “Lets go advertise the greatest stage work since Shakespeare’s last show!”

Pittsburgh Village Fair, Outside at the Village Square, Later That Day

Elizabeth sat in the back row, watching the show. So far, so good, she thought. No one had bumped into the scenery or gotten any lines wrong. It seemed a little flat, but it could have been a lot worse. Hilary in particular didn't seem to be paying attention to her performance. Her mind was hundreds of miles away with her husband, not on the stage.

Scott had been watching with her, but he disappeared when Gertrude tapped his shoulder and said something about some business at the Inn. That was at least ten minutes ago. The show was just about over.

Betty felt a tug on her arm just as the cast were starting to take their bows. Scott, Gertrude, C.J, and Mr. Eldridge were behind her. “We just got some big, big news, Liz.” He frowned. “We have to tell the others now.”

Elizabeth saw the looks in their eyes. “What is it? What happened?”

Scott wouldn't tell her until they met the others by the stage. “What's going on?” Hilary demanded. “You look as if someone died in this show. Were our performances that bad?”

Gertrude sniffled. “Your Ladyship, that isn't funny. We just got word from Boston. Victor Comstock was killed in a riot during his speeches.”

Elizabeth let out a horrified “No!” The others gasped. Scott Sherwood's face was a blank mask.

Hilary stiffened. “And Jeffrey?”

Mr. Eldridge put his arm on Hilary's shoulder. “Don't worry, Your Ladyship. He's fine. He's in a hospital in Boston. He was hurt in the riot, but they got him out. He'll be home in a few weeks.”

Scott didn't like the glazed look of shock in Elizabeth's brown eyes. “Liz, are you ok?”

“Yes, Scott.” She gathered her purse. “I'm going home. If anyone needs me, I'll be writing.”

The Monongahela Inn, Three Weeks Later

Scott was worried. Elizabeth refused to leave her room. She'd locked herself in and had done nothing but write story after story where the boy always got the girl and nothing horrible ever happened. He wanted to break her door down and demand that she join the real world, but he suspected she wouldn't take it well.

Besides, someone had to run the Inn. Evidently, Elizabeth dealt with the complaints of residents, handled supplies, made sure the rooms were spotless, and even worked the front desk. The others didn't really know how to do it. He did all he could to keep things afloat in those weeks.

It didn't help that the owner of a theater in Philadelphia had been so impressed with Cecilia's performance in the show at the fair, he offered her a job. She took it eagerly. Being an actress had always been her real goal. Her exit left the Inn without a maid. All of the residents were pressed to do the chores she'd vacated.

“Elizabeth?” Scott knocked on the door to her room. “I have someone here who wants to talk to you.”

“No, Scott,” she croaked, “I'm busy with my writing.”

Lord Jeff Singer stepped next to Scott, at least as well as he could with a cane and a bandaged chest. Hilary was with him. “As a peer of the realm, Mistress Roberts, I demand that you come downstairs.” He smiled slightly. “Or there will be dire consequences.”

Elizabeth met them in the green parlor. She looked haggard and unkempt, very different from the neat and trim Elizabeth Scott had gotten used to. Her shapeless gray dress was wrinkled and stained with ink. Her tired eyes lit up when she saw Jeff. “Your Lordship, you're home!”

“Yes, Mistress Roberts, I'm home.” He looked around the parlor room. “I...I thought it would be all gone, but it's here.” He turned to a beaming Hilary, wearing one of her finest purple silk gowns. “And you're here. And you,” he pointed to Scott, “and you,” he turned his finger to Elizabeth. “Elizabeth...you look terrible.”

“I'm all right.” She went to him. “Lord Jeffrey, what...happened? We haven't really heard any details.”

He bit his lip. “I don't remember much. Victor and I were separated during the riot after one of our speeches. All I know is, I woke up in a hospital with a fractured leg, and he...they said he was gone.”

Hilary rubbed his arm gently. “We're going to go away for a few weeks.” She grinned into his eyes. “Jeffrey will need to recover somewhere warm and tropical.”

Jeffery’s own grin widened. “I heard Spain's Mexican colonies are lovely this time of year.”

Hilary's rubbing got deeper. “Perfect place for a romantic rendezvous.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “What you two do when you're feeling mushy is your business. Elizabeth and I will do some acting in our plays and help out until you get back.”

But the Lady and the Lord didn't hear a word he said. They were too busy staring passionately into each other's eyes to pay anyone else much mind.

The Monongahela Inn, Six Weeks Later

Gertrude Reece wasn't surprised in the least when Lady Hilary and Lord Jeff burst angrily into the Inn, dressed in rumpled clothing and shooting each other looks that would kill a British officer at thirty paces. They dropped their baggage on the just-cleaned floor. She and Elizabeth, who were dusting in the lobby, exchanged amused looks of their own and went on with what they were doing.

“Whose idea was it to take that trip all the way down to the Mexican colonies anyway?” Hilary rubbed her rear. “That last carriage bounced so abominably, I may never sit straight again!”

“Did you ever to begin with?” Jeff growled. “Hilary, why did we get married again?”

“Because we'll only get divorced and then married again if we didn't. Do you remember why we had to leave England?”

“Yes, it was because you just had to have that dalliance with that Barrymore you kept discussing.”

Hilary smirked. “When a Barrymore wants you to dally, you dally. They're practically royalty, darling.”

Scott walked in, eating one of the chocolate biscuits Gertrude made earlier. “Did you two have fun in Mexico?”

“About as much as can be expected with him” Hilary nodded at Jeff “along for the ride.”

“Good.” Scott picked up one of Elizabeth's dust rags off the table and handed it to Hilary. “We're going to need you to help do the dusting upstairs until we can hire a new maid. Jeff, you can scrub the pots and pans in the kitchen with Mr. Eldridge.”

Hilary looked at the rag like it intended to bite her. “Surely you don't expect someone of our station to do common housework?”

“It's either that, or you find another place to live.”

Jeff glared at Hilary. “I'll do it. It might not be bad work, at that. I don't believe in shirking my duty.” He turned to Scott as he headed out. “Take our things upstairs to our rooms. I'll be up there after I've made every bloody pot in that kitchen shine like the Mexican sun at noon in July!”

Scott handed Hilary a hat box. “I believe this is your job, Your Ladyship. It's your luggage. I have an inn to run.” He followed Jeff out the door, dropping biscuit crumbs on his way.

Hilary first turned to Elizabeth, but she shook her head. “No can do, Your Ladyship. I have stories to write, and the front desk needs to be polished.” She made a face at the biscuit crumbs on the floor “And now I need to sweep in here again.” She went to get a broom.

Hilary dumped the hatbox into Gertrude's arms. “Take our things upstairs, Gertrude. Mind the smaller boxes. That's my jewelry.”

Gertrude rolled her eyes. “What do I look like, your lady in waiting?”

“You'll be waiting for a pink slip if you talk to me that way again.” Hilary snapped her fingers. “Now, go to it! I'll be in the garden, taking some nice cold tea after my long, hot journey to Mexico.” She left Gertrude sputtering with a hatbox in her arms.

The Fou Del Rouge Theater, Pittsburgh Village, the Next Day

No one noticed Scott ducking into the alleyway behind the slightly dilapidated theater. The Fou Del Rouge was a French venue noted mainly for its European dancers' scanty costumes. His second-in-command worked here, but he'd wanted them to be closer to their headquarters. Now was the perfect opportunity.

He knocked on the back door. “Maple? Are you there?”

A head poked out. “Scott?” The woman was shapely and well-formed, the hair a flaming red-gold. Her lips parted in an enormous, warm smile. She wore a tight, frilly dancing costume that left little to the imagination. “What are you doing in this head of the woods? I thought you said you had a new piece of work.” Her voice was a contralto in a bad French accent.

“Shh!” He nodded. “I found the perfect spot for our headquarters. We can't keep hidin' stuff in the woods. The Governor will figure it out sooner or later. I met a fellow in Boston who needed someone to manage some little inn here in Pittsburgh while he was off fighting the British. The guy died, and I stayed around.” His eyes got a little dreamier. “That girl...the one we met on the road to here a few months ago...she needed me. Elizabeth needed me. She's so smart...and beautiful...and brave...”

Maple raised an eyebrow. “You sound as if you are in amour with her.”

“I've got more important things on my mind than love.” He looked around. “I'll tell you this fast. There's a job open at the inn. The original maid left, and they need a replacement. You have experience. You were a maid in France.”

Maple shrugged. “This is true. Besides, it is much more good than pushing the hommes away from my costume. I tire of only being looked at. I want to be a femme who has respect.”

“Sure.” He handed her a piece of paper. “This is the address.” His eyes widened as they heard voices outside the alley. “I'd better go. I'll see you later.” He ducked out. Maple went back in the theater, her big brown eyes shining.

The Monongahela Inn, Later That Day

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at the paper the tall, attractive red-head handed her. Jeff, Mr. Foley, and Mackie sat on the couch behind her, admiring the comely woman whose tight flowered gown and fancy feathered hat showed off every single one of her considerable curves. The satin heeled shoes she wore showed gave her even more stature.“You've had some very, um, interesting jobs, Miss Martienne.”

“Merci, mademoiselle!” She gave her an enormous, toothy grin. “I have had checkered career, non?”

“Um, yes.” She handed her the paper. “How are you with basic cleaning? Dusting, sweeping, mopping, making the bed....”

Maple smirked a little. “Let us say I know much about beds, making them and unmaking them.”

Jeff, Mackie, and Mr. Foley were grinning ear to ear now.

Betty blushed, but she said, “Well, you have the job. You're the closest candidate to being qualified we've talked to all day. You'll have the servant's quarters in the rooms in the back with our housekeeper Gertrude, Mackie Bloom our valet, and Mr. Eldridge, our...well, you'll be out in the back. It has a lovely view of the garden.”

“Oh, merci!” She beamed. “I am so glad I am able to work here!” She shook Elizabeth's hand. “It will be new experience.”

All three men surrounded her the moment she started towards the garden. Mackie grabbed her one traveling bag. “Let me help you with that.”

Jeff took her cloak. “I'll hang that in the hall linen press.”

“You forget Jeff, you're married.” Mackie started to take her arm, but Mr. Foley got there first.

Maple smiled her enormous, toothy grin. “Why, merci, Monsieur! You are, how you say it, very gentlemanly.” Foley gave them a small smirk over his shoulder as he escorted her to the garden.

Basement of the Monongahela Inn, Midnight

Dark shadows fell across the gardens of the Monongahela Inn. They almost served to hide the figure in the stifling cloak that darted across the silvery-green grass. It ducked into the wooden door with iron hinges that lead under the building.

The basement was musty and dark. Shelves of preserves, crates of food and supplies, old costumes and scenery from the plays, and tools on the walls gave off odd shadows. A familiar figure in a dark cloak leaned on a crate in one corner. “Hi, Mapes,” it whispered. “Have a hard time getting away?”

“Non, Scott.” Maple pulled off the hood, revealing her glittering brown eyes and bright red hair. “Mackie went out with the maid who brings milk, and Gertrude and Monsieur Eldridge are asleep.” She looked around. “Do you think it is safe to talk? We are not alone. There are others upstairs.”

“Nahh, they're all out. I checked. Well, except for their Lady and Lordship, but,” he smirked knowingly, “they're otherwise occupied.”

Another, smaller figure joined them. This one also wore a dark cloak, but he was definitely male, with lighter hair and a cleft in his chin. “I got your message,” C.J, the Inn's messenger boy, admitted. “Lester wanted to be here, but he said he was busy with work. He's probably working on a woman.”

“That is Lester for you.” Maple sat next to Scott. “So, what is next business you are planning to remove money from?”

“Flowergrams Gardens, just outside Fort Pitt. Beautiful estate with a thriving flower shop...and a wealthy one. I was also thinking we could stop a couple of the Pennsylvania Colony Coaches that run from here to Philadelphia and rip off some of the richer clientele.” He grinned at Maple. “How are you with flowers?”

“I do not sneeze around them, if that is what you mean. I could dress as flower seller or fancy lady who buy flowers for home.” She waved her hand upstairs. “I will have to fit it in between chores here. I did not know that being maid required so many things of a girl.” She smiled. “I think I will like it, though. It will be nice to do honest work between jobs.”

“It is kind of nice, isn't it?” He frowned. “No one else at the inn can know what we're doing. I don't want them involved.” He turned to them. “The money...I have a new plan for it.”

They both looked surprised. “A new plan?” Maple raised her eyebrows. “You're not...”

He put a hand over Maple's mouth. “No, I'm not. The money we make and that I've...borrowed...from here will be going to the causes that Victor Comstock fought for.” He pulled away from her. The moonlight fell on his broad back. “I've heard the residents' stories. Victor Comstock wanted all Americans to be free. He believed the English are really giving us a raw deal. He died for that cause.” He turned back, his face grave. “I was in the French and Indian War. I know what the English are capable of. They've already killed Comstock. The staff deserves better than being taxed off their land and treated like dirt by people like Governor Pruitt.”

Suddenly, a sliver of light shown from above Scott. “That was a pretty speech, Mr. Sherwood.” Lord Jeffrey Singer stood in the doorway. “A pity I doubt you really mean it.”

Scott turned to the door in surprise. “What are you doing here? How did you...”

Jeff leaned in the doorway. His breeches had been hastily thrown on. He held a coverlet around his shoulders. “Hilary and I had just finished our...administrations when I heard someone walking downstairs. I followed you here.”

Scott stepped closer to Maple and C.J. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to know you're planning something important.” He came downstairs. “You're stealing from local businesses. You're nothing but common thieves!”

“Shhh!” Scott shook his head. “Not that common, Your Lordship.” He frowned. “What we tell you here has to be kept secret. You can't tell anyone what we're doing. Not the staff, and especially not Hilary.”

Jeff just looked confused. “All right. I swear, I won't tell a soul. But what...”

Scott's familiar roguish grin spread across his face. “Aye lad,” he said, his Irish accent thickening until it was practically a stew, “I dare say you know who we are. Have you ever heard of The Crimson Blade?”

Jeff nodded. “What does he have to do with this?” He looked upstairs. “And what about Elizabeth? She's a clever girl. She'll figure out what you're doing.”

Scott smirked. “Just leave her to me, Jeff. Piece of cake!”

The Manager's Office, the Next Morning

Elizabeth Roberts groaned. “I don't believe you!”

Scott chuckled. “Well, that's probably a good policy.” He sat on the top of the desk in his office. “Liz, Victor Comstock literally gave his life to make these colonies great. Those big, big businesses out there won't notice a little bit missing. We'll donate the money we get from the Flowergrams Gardens and Pennsylvania Colony Coaches to the American causes here and in Boston that he spoke for.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Well, as long as something useful will come out of it. We'll still promote the Gardens and the Coaches here, of course. We have small weddings in the garden occasionally. I just...Scott, I don't like this. We really should return the money...”

“Lass, that's something we can not do. How would we explain it?”

Elizabeth sighed. “All right. It's for the good of the Inn.” She looked down at the books. “And for Victor.”

Scott looked into her eyes. “You miss him, don't you?”

“Well, yes. He was...he was a good manager and a good man. He had so many ideas for keeping the Inn going. When he left, I thought my heart left, too.”

Scott looked hopeful. “And now?”

Elizabeth could only smile a little bit. “We'll see, Scott.” It was enough to make Scott's heart leap.

Someday, he thought wistfully to himself, I'll tell her who I really am. For now...all I can do is show that I love her.

The Adventures of the Crimson Blade 2

The Monongahela Inn, October 1774

Elizabeth Roberts sat in her room, working on her newest stories. Her publisher, Kurt Holstrom, was delighted with the adventure tales she was turning out. She certainly didn't lack for inspiration! The Crimson Blade and his band of outlaws had been quite active in the last few months, striking businesses ranging from the Flowergrams Gardens on the edge of town to the Pennsylvania Colony Coaches and the Midas Lotions and Soaps Shop a few streets away. No one knew just how they were getting away with it.

Elizabeth sighed. The Inn was doing as well as it ever did. The core residents and staff remained on, while other customers came and went, sometimes in the blink of an eye. Lady Penelope Comminger of Flowergrams Gardens had stayed on for a few days. She claimed she was there to oversee some of the weddings they were providing flowers for, but Elizabeth suspected she really wanted to talk to Mackie Bloom, who had once courted her.

Then, there was the time Scott's Aunt Agatha, who lived by the sea in the Massachusetts Colony, spent a day at the Inn. Scott claimed the Inn was a fortress and that he was a crony of George Washington! Elizabeth did have to admit it was kind of fun to pretend to be a military spy...until Aunt Agatha revealed that she'd known all along what they were doing.

And then, there was the infamous time they started a newspaper at the Inn. Scott called it an “in-house newsletter.” Their publication lasted eight hours. They chose the quietest, least-newsworthy day to begin. They could find no news to report anywhere, and Elizabeth refused to let Scott create his own.

Elizabeth had to admit that she'd begun to like Scott. She liked him a great deal. Even when his ideas didn't work, he always bounced back and came up with another one. He was funny and sweet and every inch a gentleman. He was a different manager than Victor Comstock, who was noble and good and dedicated to the station. She was certain Victor wouldn't walk on rooftops to create news or “borrow” money from local businesses.

She was glad to see how happy Lord and Lady Singer were, too. Their romantic overtures to each other in the plays were the talk of Pittsburgh Village. Sure, they still fought on occasion, but they were mostly insanely in love with each other...and there was the noise they made in their rooms at night to prove it.

“Miss Roberts?” She stood and went to the door. C.J Byrnes, the Inn's messenger boy, held out an envelope to her. “Here's a letter from Mr. Holstrom. Everyone in the Inn got one.”

Elizabeth took the envelope. “Thank you, C.J.” She opened it, her eyes slowly widening with delight as she did. “It's an invitation! Mr. Holstrom inviting everyone at the Inn to Governor Pruitt's masquerade ball! He's a close, personal friend of the Governor. It'll be held at the Governor’s Palace just outside of Pittsburgh Village.” She read it over. “And he even wants the actors and actresses to perform! Eugenia and Mr. Foley will play with the governor’s own orchestra.”

Hilary and Jeff hurried to her door. “Did you get your invitation, Elizabeth? Isn't it exciting? Our first real society ball since my days as the toast of London.” She turned to Jeff. “You'll have to wear that dashing new velvet cape I ordered for you. It makes you look like a musketeer from the French legions. And I'll finally have a reason to take my tiara out of storage.”

Jeff nuzzled her. “You'd look even more beautiful in nothing at all.”

Hilary kissed him. “Save that thought for after the ball.” She turned to Elizabeth. “I know several good seamstresses here in Pittsburgh Village. I might be able to get you something suitable.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Gosh, I didn't even think of what to wear! I'm just excited to be going to a ball!”

Maple nearly ran into Hilary and Jeff as they went off to talk clothes and C.J went to give envelopes to the others. “Ooh lah lah! Elizabeth, it is exciting, oui? I have the perfect number that I will wear. I will be bird in feather dance costume from Fou Del Rouge.” She sighed. “I will be going to ball with Monsieur Bloom. He is tres...how you say it?...courtly. I will have good time with him.”

Scott replaced Maple at the door. “Get your invite to this shindig, Liz? Anyone ask you out?” He made a face. “Did...Doug...ask you?”

Elizabeth sighed. Doug was Douglas Thompson, the sweet lawyer who lived at the Inn when he was in Pittsburgh. He had been courting Elizabeth on and off for a few months. His attentions made Scott very jealous. “No, Scott. Douglas isn't in town. He's in the countryside, dealing with one of his farmer clients.”

“Good.” Scott grinned. “I wanted first dibs on asking you.” He pulled up a chair next to her, turned it around, and sat on it backwards. “Would you like to go with me? I'm not a good dancer, but I'd keep you on your toes.”

“I'm sure you would.” Elizabeth finally nodded. “Yes, Scott, I'll go to the ball with you. You've been such a great help to the Inn. We're almost breaking even now, all because of you.” When you've been here, she mentally added. Scott had the habit of disappearing at the most inopportune times. She'd go to his office, looking for him, and he wouldn't be there...and then he'd turn up a few hours later, asking her to consider his latest harebrained scheme.

“Great, Liz! I'll pick you up on the front porch at 7 PM. Don't be late!” He looked at his silver pocket watch. “Oh, would you look at the time? I have a meeting with your publisher Kurt Holstrom about putting ads for his books on the side of the Inn. Isn't that a great idea? I'll call it 'billboards.'” He was still talking about it on his way out

Elizabeth sighed again as she watched him leave. “I wish that man would stop for more than five minutes and linger! And where have I heard 'Oh, would you look at the time?' before?”

Jeff and Maple met Scott in the hallway. His grin melted into a worried frown. “Are we all goin'?”

Maple nodded. “Oui. The whole staff is going, except for Madame Gertrude et Monsieur Eldridge. They are going to stay and watch Inn.” She looked into his eyes. “Scott, tell us why party is so important?” She smirked. “Other than getting to show off our dancing shoes.”

“I can't keep lying to Hilary about this,” Jeff added. “I think she's already suspicious.”

Scott held out several sheets of paper. “Jeff, those billboards Holstrom asked us to put on the Inn are in code. I recognized it. I worked on codes during the French and Indian War.” He had the dignity to blush. “I was promoting an archery tournament between some of the Indian nations and the British settlers. The settlers claimed it was fixed. So I either broke codes for British spies or spent six months in the jail at Fort Pitt. I got pretty good at it, actually.”

Jeff nodded. “Ok, so it's in code. What does that have to do with anything?”

“The codes,” Scott whispered, “seem to be orders to destroy the ironworks and boat works here in Pittsburgh Village. The ones that provide weapons and transportation for George Washington's soldiers.”

Maple gasped. The two men looked grim. “Why would Holstrom Publishing be involved in sabotage?” Maple asked. “Unless...” She let the thought trail off, unable to even consider it. Kurt Holstrom was one of Pittsburgh's leading publishers, and a major figure in the village. If he was in league with the English, it meant things in little Pittsburgh were far more complicated than previously suspected.

Elizabeth Roberts stepped out of her room. “Scott...what do you mean?”

Scott frowned. “Liz, not to speak ill of your boss, but I think he could be involved in some really big, big news...like sabotage...”

Lady Hilary and Lord Jeffrey Singer's Room, That Afternoon

“Hilary, I don't believe him.” Elizabeth winced as Gertrude stuck another pin into her gossamer gown. “Kurt Holstrom is one of Pittsburgh's most important people! Why would he be a spy?”

Hilary crossed her arms. “Elizabeth, could you get your mind off politics and onto something of vastly more importance to my love life and yours?” She stopped in front of the girl in the white dress. “I know Jeffrey has been sneaking out at night, usually with your beloved rogue Scott Sherwood.”

“He's not my beloved rogue.”

Hilary ignored her protest. “They're up to something. It's not seeing other women. Scott is devoted to you,” she smirked, “and Jeffrey knows if I ever caught him chasing after any woman who wasn't me, I'd castrate him and send him to the seventh and eighth bowels of the nearest hell. Or have I said too much?”

Gertrude rolled her eyes. “They're probably going to the Buttery Tavern down the street to get drunk.”

“No, I don't smell ale on his breath when he gets in.”

Elizabeth fidgeted. “Hilary, what you says does make sense. Scott's acted strangely ever since he's arrived. I wish there was a way we could find out what they're doing.”

Gertrude took the remaining pins out of her mouth. “You could always put them on leashes.”

“Jeff would just chew through his.” Hilary finally stopped. “Elizabeth, we'll have to stick with our men every minute tonight. Let's not leave their sides for a second. If they take off, we follow them.”

Gertrude finally got to her feet. “I don't know why they'd want to leave your sides. You both look amazing.”

She pulled a mirror in front of them to let them look. Hilary preened at the sight of her black and silver gown with the puffed sleeves and enormous, stiff lace collar. The silver and jet tiara sparkled in the afternoon sunlight. Elizabeth was a decided contrast in her ethereal white gown trimmed with ruffles and gossamer wings. A wreath of white roses circled her dark chestnut curls.

“Ooh lah lah,” Maple exclaimed as she came in. “You are tres magnifique!” She wore an enormous gown of red silk trimmed with matching feathers. Feathers bobbed in her red-orange waves. Her daringly low-cut neckline was awash in gold ruffles and lace. She held three masks, one in red, one in white, and one black and silver. “The hommes are waiting on the porch for us. Let's show them a good time!”

The Adventures of the Crimson Blade 3

The Governor’s Mansion, That Evening

Elizabeth Roberts had never felt so elegant in her entire life. She and Scott were walking down the steps to the ballroom, arm in arm. He was dressed as a Spanish warrior all in black, with a woven poncho, a heavy velvet mask, and a dark, wide-brimmed hat cocked over his shining black-sliver locks. Elizabeth couldn't help but notice the many pairs of eyes that turned to them.

The Governor’s Palace was enormous. The ornate ballroom alone would have made six of the Monongahela Inn. Elizabeth was overwhelmed by the crowds of elaborately-dressed people there. She saw outfits and masks in every shade of the rainbow and every book character that had ever been created. C.J, dressed as Robin Hood in green, blushed as red as Maple's outfit as they danced. Jeffrey, costumed as a French musketeer, swept Hilary into a waiting crowd of admirers. Mackie, who was Polonius from Hamlet, had several admirers of his own.

“Some party, huh?” Scott lead her to the dance floor. “I'll give Pruitt credit. He sure knows how to throw a bash.” She chuckled as he swung her into the dance. He was right. He wasn't very good. He kept stepping on her toes. She didn't really mind, though. He looked so dashing in his black outfit and bright woven poncho, picked up on some previous adventure of his.

“Mr. Sherwood!” Governor Pruitt oozed up to them after they finished their dance. Scott pasted on a grin, but one hand curled into a fist. Elizabeth put her hand on his. The Governor was the wealthiest man in the entire colony. He owned many, many businesses throughout the colonies, as well as several estates in England. It was said that not all of his wealth was gained through honest dealings. Elizabeth had heard the rumors about the families, in England and the colonies, whose lives had been destroyed when he took their estates and their livelihoods by force. He was also rather ugly, with his beady dark eyes, slicked-back black hair, and face that resembled a constipated bulldog.

“It's so interesting to finally meet you. Lady Gloria Redmond, who owns that little hole-in-the-ground of yours, has told me so much about your doings at her Inn.” He took Elizabeth's hand. “And who is this charming spirit? Her radiant beauty outshines all the women at the ball tonight.”

“Miss Elizabeth Roberts.” Elizabeth had to resist pulling her hand away when he kissed it. His kiss was a slimy brush across her knuckles, very different from Scott, or Victor, or even the Crimson Blade. “That's very kind of you, Governor.” She squeezed Scott's fist again. “We've heard so much about you as well.”

“Nothing too horrible, I hope. I know there's some frightful things going around about what I do to my colonists. Lies, all of them.”

Scott's smile tightened. “Oh, nothing too bad. Just that you run any business you don't like into the ground, then swallow the profits whole, like a snake swallows an egg.”

Pruitt's snake-like smirk got meaner. “Like I said, Sherwood, lies.” He took Elizabeth's arm. “Would you do me the honor of joining me for this dance, Miss Roberts?”

Elizabeth turned to Scott, but he was already looking at his pocket watch. “Oh, would you look at the time? Liz, I see James Crowley, of the Weeping Joker Inn, our competition down by the Allegheny. I really need to talk to him about sharing ideas for rounding up new customers.” He deeply kissed her hand, then gave Pruitt a “that's how you do it” smirk before rushing off.

“Elizabeth!” Hilary pushed her way through the throng. “My Jeffrey just took off for the little boys' room chamber pot. I know that excuse was as phony as some of the women's bosoms.” She leaned over Elizabeth and whispered conspiratorially “I happen to know Duchess Grace Cavendish pads her bosom.”

Elizabeth coughed. “Hilary, we have to follow the men.” She turned to Pruitt. “I'll dance with you another time, Governor. We seem to have misplaced our escorts.”

Pruitt still smirked. “I'll be waiting with baited breath for the next dance.”

“I'm sure you will.” Elizabeth and Hilary hurried from Pruitt as quickly as possible.

Mackie and Mr. Foley rushed over to them. Mr. Foley wore painted silver metal on his arms and legs that was supposed to make him look like a knight in shining armor. It clanked so loudly, no one could hear what he was saying. “Have either of you seen Maple?” Mackie asked over the din. “I haven't gotten a dance with her yet!” Foley nodded his head in agreement.

“We were looking for our escorts.” Elizabeth pointed towards the crowd behind her. “Scott's supposed to be talking to James Crawley,” she said, indicating a tall, portly man in a joker's outfit, “but he isn't there. Jeff's gone, too.”

Eugenia, dressed as a shepherdess in a pink flowered dress and enormous bonnet, joined them. “Mr. Foley, you promised me the next dance.” She saw the worried faces on the others. “Did I say something wrong?”

Hilary crossed her arms. “Nothing of the sort, Eugenia. We just seemed to have lost a few members of our party, including Scott Sherwood and my Jeffrey.”

Eugenia shrugged. “Oh, I'm sure they're around here somewhere.”

That was when the lights went out. The entire ballroom was plunged into darkness. Hilary groaned. “Oh wonderful! Now we'll never find them!”

Mackie whimpered. “I don't like this! I'm scared of the dark!”

Elizabeth's eyes widened as she felt a breath over her shoulder. “Miss Roberts, give me your bracelet and your locket. I swear I'll have my people return them to the Inn at the end of the night.”

Elizabeth did as she was bid, despite her surprise. “The Crimson Blade! But what...why....”

“Shhh!” His heavy Irish accent was husky and deep...and familiar. “Elizabeth Roberts, you're the smartest and prettiest lass I've ever known. I fell in love with you the moment I saw you in that carriage.” He kissed her gently on the neck. “Meet me at the stone bench by the cherry tree in the garden at the back of the Monongahela Inn at midnight. I'll tell you more there.”

Hilary was getting similar treatment from a taller outline...one that was also quite well-known to her. “Jeffrey!” she hissed as a hand yanked at her head. “What are you doing? That tiara costs a fortune! Not to mention, you're mussing my hair.”

“Hilary, I swear, I'll give it back later.” He sighed. “I should have known I couldn't fool you.”

“I like to think we know each other too well for that.” She squeezed his gloved hand. “Darling, why are you doing this? If you've done something worse than usual, we could try to make it right.”

“I can't tell you, Mittens. Not right now. I'll explain everything I can after the ball.”

Another familiar, younger voice shook Jeff's arm. “Are you coming, or what? We still have the rest of the crowd to do.”

“Right.” He kissed Hilary passionately. “I'll see you later, Mittens.”

“Right back at ya, Pumpkin.” Hilary let out a romantic sigh as she heard feet take off for the ballroom.

Mackie groaned. “Damn it, someone got my cufflinks!” He raised an eyebrow. “And I think they pinched my behind!”

“And my pearl necklace is gone!” added Eugenia with a wail. Mr. Foley only shrugged. His knight costume didn't require fancy jewelry.

“Now we really need to find the others.” Elizabeth pointed towards the ballroom. “Mackie, you, Mr. Foley, and Eugenia search the ballroom. Talk to the musicians. They may have seen either the men or the Crimson Blade. Hilary and I will search the adjoining rooms.”

The moment they were alone, Hilary turned to Elizabeth, her eyes angry and annoyed. “That was Jeffrey who stole my tiara! When I get my hands on him, I'll kill him! Even if that kiss was the best we've had in...days...”

Elizabeth's cheeks were flaming. “I think the Crimson Blade himself took mine.”

“That hell-raising highwayman who's robbed every coach and business from here to Philadelphia? What would my Jeffrey be doing working for him?”

“I wish I knew, Hilary.” She decided not to mention the Crimson Blade's midnight invitation. “I'd like to know how he got the lights off all at once.”

They ducked into what appeared to be the dining room. A long, long table stretched from one side of the room to the other. It was mostly empty, except for a silver vase of fresh flowers in the center, the guests having eaten earlier in the evening.

“Well,” sighed Elizabeth, “they're not here. Maybe we could check...”

“Miss Roberts!” Kurt Holstrom followed them into the room. He was a big blond man with a round face and watery blue eyes. He had a thick mustache and thin gold hair under a German soldier's polished helmet. “It's so nice to see you again. Your stories have been bringing in quite a bit of money for my presses. And Lady Booth,” he kissed Hilary's hand, “it's good to finally meet the most charming noblewoman in all the colonies.”

Hilary preened. “Thank you, Mr. Holstrom. For a publisher of penny press novels and newspapers, you certainly know how to please a woman.”

Holstrom turned his attention to Elizabeth. “And you've done such amazing things with your stories. Before you started writing, our Captain Amazon character used to be some goody-two-shoes patriot who solved everyone's problems with a speech about General Washington or the American cause. You made him a loner who doesn't look for trouble unless it comes looking for him.”

Elizabeth stiffened. “I had a friend who died for the Patriot cause, Mr. Holstrom. Victor Comstock was killed while helping General Washington's army in Boston.”

“I'm sorry I said something so insensitive, Miss Roberts. Master Comstock was a good man.” He shook his head. “I never did understand how he could be so stubborn about these silly Patriotic notions some people have. We're English citizens. The English provide everything for us. They fund our businesses. We belong to them.”

Elizabeth thought this was as good of a time as any to address Scott's concerns. “Mr. Holstrom, I have to ask something about those billboards you wanted us to hang on the Inn.”

Holstrom's face tightened, but he continued to smile. “Fire away.”

“Mr. Sherwood claims he found codes in the billboards you gave us to hang on the Inn's walls.” She pulled the advertisements out of the pocket in her dress. “They give orders for British saboteurs to blow up the ironworks and boat works in the village.”

“I can guarantee you that message isn't intended for weary travelers,” Hilary added.

Elizabeth's eyes widened even further when she saw Holstrom pull out a pistol. “You are quite clever, Miss Roberts. You and Mr. Sherwood.” He grabbed Hilary's arm and held the pistol to her head. “It's a shame neither of you will live to get your findings to the authorities.”

Elizabeth stepped back. “Scott was right. You are a spy!” She reached for the vase of flowers. “If you try anything on Hilary, I'll...I'll use this on you!”

“Please tell me that isn't Plan A,” Hilary moaned.

“No, this is!” A sword slashed the hand holding the pistol. Hilary ducked away as Holstrom dropped the pistol, grabbing his hand. Elizabeth turned to face a tall, lean figure dressed all in black. Even with his face shaded by a hood, Elizabeth could tell he was livid. “Get your hands off my wife!”

“Jeffrey!” Hilary ran over to him. He gently pushed her behind the table.

“We're going to settle this like gentlemen, Holstrom.” He tossed a sword to Holstrom. “Engarde, you yellow-bellied traitor!”

It was quite obvious that the rotund Holstrom was outmatched by the lean, taught, and very angry Lord Singer. Jeff finally got the sword out of his hand and him against the table. “Hilary, help me tie him to the chair.” He looked up at Elizabeth. “Liz, get those papers to the police, quickly!”

Elizabeth didn't stop to ask questions. She hurried down the hall and across the ballroom, her gossamer wings and white gown trailing behind her like a silken mist. The ballroom was now lit, but the Crimson Blade and his people seemed to be gone.

Mackie was talking to Lady Penelope, a small, pretty woman with reddish curls and an enormous gray silk gown trimmed with fine white lace and bows. She asked them if they'd seen the guards, but they were really too busy with their conversation to listen.

She made her way out to the garden. The cool fall air hit her like a giant fan after the stuffy heat of the ballroom. It cleared her mind, helped her think. I have to find the police, or the military. They'd know what to do with this!

“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Roberts?” Governor Pruitt staggered into the garden. He yanked at her hand. “I think they're worth far more than that, especially if they're about me.”

She pulled her hand away. “No, Your Lordship. I was just thinking that I need to find the local militia branch. I have some...information...I need to give them.”

“What's so important that such a fair sprite has to fly away from the ball this early?” He managed to waddle closer to her. She could smell his overpowering perfumes. “You never did give me that dance.” His fingers were inching closer to her leg...and the pocket with the codes. “I think I'll take it now.”

Elizabeth was about to scream when Pruitt suddenly jumped away from her. He turned and rubbed his back. A figure in red and black, a hood covering their head, stood behind him. “Why did you have to poke so damnably hard, you lowly Irish scoundrel?”

“'Tis the only way I could keep your wandering snake's tail from squeezing the life out of that poor lass.” The Crimson Blade pointed his sword at Pruitt. “Besides, I'm not the only scoundrel here. You're just as much of a thief and a liar as I am. You merely hide your activities under a veneer of respectability.”

“While you're a brazen criminal and outlaw.” He pulled out his sword. “I'll enjoy dispatching you right here and now!” Pruitt lunged for the Crimson Blade, but he was ready for him. He ducked away easily.

Elizabeth stayed by the rose bushes. She was surprised at how agile a fencer Pruitt was. He gave the Crimson Blade far more of a challenge than Holstrom had given Jeff. The two jumped all around the garden benches and arbors, lunging and slashing. The Crimson Blade pushed one of the benches onto Pruitt, finally getting him on the ground long enough to hurry to the wide-eyed girl in the white gown. “We're still meeting at midnight?” he whispered.

Elizabeth could only nod. “Yes.”

“Good.” He kissed her hand fervently. “You go get those codes to General Washington's men. I'll find the others.”

“How did he know about the codes?” Elizabeth was so lost in thought, she didn't see where the Crimson Blade went to.

She was still distracted when she came back into the ballroom. Scott Sherwood was talking to James Crowley, the owner of the Weeping Joker Inn. “Oh, hi Liz.” He grinned. “Exciting night, huh? Even if it did cost me my second-best pair of cufflinks. That Crimson Blade sure is somethin' else.”

“Good thing jesters aren't supposed to wear jewels,” fussed Crowley. “They couldn't rip anything off of me. I can't believe something would happen at a ball this size in this day and age!” He turned to Scott. “About sharing new ideas and staff, Sherwood...”

Scott looked for his infamous pocket watch, only to see that it was missing. “Darn it, look like they got that, too. Oh well.” He smiled at Crowley. “I have to get this beautiful and charming lady home. Shall we discuss this tomorrow at my office?”

Crowley nodded. “Ten o'clock sharp, Sherwood, and none of your malarkey.”

Mackie and Maple joined them. Maple let out a wail. “Oooh, the Crimson Blade, they took my only good necklace! I am so...how you say it...behind myself!”

Mackie patted her hand. “That's ok, hon. C.J n' I will get you home.”

Scott took Elizabeth's arm. “Shall we, Miss Roberts?”

She smiled up at him. There was something familiar about his smile... “We shall.”

The Garden of the Monongahela Inn, Later That Night

Elizabeth Roberts sat on the stone bench under the cherry tree, now wearing a simpler brick-red dress. Gulliver's Travels, one of her favorite books, sat next to her. She couldn't sleep, and since it was such a nice night, she decided to get an early start on waiting for the Crimson Blade. She wondered how he could fall for her after only two meetings. There's something about him, she thought. It's like...I know him. His voice...the pocket watch....where have I seen and heard them before?

She was still wondering when she heard something rustling in the bushes behind her. It was a still night. Not a single breeze ruffled the yellowing leaves of the cherry tree. She gulped. She couldn't take any more surprises after her long night. Scott went to deliver the codes, saying he'd let her take care of the Inn while he, Hilary, Jeff, and the others dealt with the military. None of them had returned yet. Gertrude, Mr. Eldridge, Mackie, and Maple were all asleep in the servants' quarters.

“Hello?” She gazed into the bushes. “Is anyone there?” She thought she saw...no, she couldn't have. A long, sad-eyed face, with dark eyes and thinning brown hair. One that should have perished in Boston. “Victor?”

“Hello, Elizabeth.” Victor Comstock finally stepped out from behind the bushes. He looked almost exactly the same, in his simple gray suit with silver trim and tri-corn hat. “I'm home.”

“You...you...” Elizabeth was so surprised, she could barely speak. “You're dead!”

“Yes, but I'm feeling a lot better now.”

Elizabeth could scarcely believe it. “Victor Comstock died in a riot in Boston.”

“That's what the government told you.” He sat on the bench and gestured for her to do the same. “I was merely knocked unconscious during the riot. When I recovered, I had several visits from General George Washington and officials of the American military. They believed I would be the perfect man to spy on the British for them.”

“But you're a civilian innkeeper!”

“And as an innkeeper, I was privy to certain information from military generals and British officials who stayed in our rooms and watched our plays.” He took her hand. “Elizabeth, you cannot reveal to anyone here what I'm telling you tonight. We could both be in grave danger if my position was discovered.”

“I swear I won't.” She leaned into his gentle, safe arms. “What is your position?”

“They want me to write pamphlets and newspaper articles for the British under the pen name of Johnathan Arnold.”

Elizabeth gasped. “But...he's the man who has been writing horrible things about the American colonies, insulting them and all those who think the colonies should be independent!”

He nodded. “Several men have been doing the writing, including me. They want me to do it exclusively now. The British consider me to be an embittered journalist from Boston who has let his sympathies be known to the right people. They think I'm here to finish my affairs.” He sighed. “Maybe I am.”

“You'll still be in Boston,” Elizabeth reminded him. “I know how difficult things have been there. You could be...”

“Killed again?” He held her closer. “It's a risk I'm willing to take. I want all people in this country to have a say in how they govern themselves. The taxes and repression placed by King George and the English nobles who run the colonies is unfair to all.”

Elizabeth held him close. “Can't I tell at least some of the others about you? They were mourning you, too. Especially Scott Sherwood. He took your death so hard.”

Victor narrowed his eyes. “Who's Scott Sherwood? I don't remember anyone by that name.” The two heard insistent rustling in the trees.“I have to meet my contact in a few minutes. Elizabeth...”

That was when they heard more rustling. Victor kissed her as hard as he could. The moment he stepped into the bushes, she passed out on the soft grass.

Victor didn't know one other person saw him that night. Maple Martienne was sneaking through the bushes, carrying a burlap bag overflowing with shiny objects. She was tugging her black cape away from a rose bush when she saw a tall, handsome, slightly balding man in a gray suit dart away and over the fence surrounding the garden. “Oooh lah lah,” she gasped. “He is tres beau! I wonder who he is?” She finally continued on to the basement...but her thoughts were on the handsome fellow in the garden.

Elizabeth came to in another pair of strong, safe arms. These were a lot stronger than Victor's, though...and a lot more red. She looked into the hooded eyes of the Crimson Blade. “'Tis quite a scare you be givin' me, Miss Roberts! I thought I saw you in the arms of another man!”

Elizabeth smiled wanly. “Oh, no. I was just...talking to myself.”

He helped her onto the bench. “I swear it sounded like a man.”

She indicated the book next to her. “I was just reading out loud.” She shouldn't have let him pull her into his arms, but she'd had a long night. She just needed someone to be there. “How could you love me? You don't know me! We have nothing in common.”

“We have more in common than you might want to think, lass.” He stroked her hair. “We both care about the people of this village, and this Inn.”

“Why do you care? You're an outlaw and a thief!” She looked up at his dark eyes. “Who are you? Why do you hide under that hood?”

He ran a gloved hand over her soft, pink cheek. “I canna tell ye, lass.”

“Don't you trust me?”

“Lass, if you were to be harmed by someone like Pruitt or Holstrom, I could never forgive myself.” He gently lifted her chin to his lips. “Elizabeth, I...”

A clanging noise interrupted them. Elizabeth looked up to see Eugenia and Mr. Foley stumbling towards her. Eugenia's bonnet was hanging off her head, and she was sweating like ice on a hot day. Mr. Foley seemed dazed under his makeshift armor. “Oh, hello there, Elizabeth!” Eugenia trilled. “What are you doing out here alone at this time of night?”

“Just reading to myself, Eugenia.” She wasn't surprised to see that the Crimson Blade was gone. I wish he'd linger for more than five minutes!

“We thought we saw a man with you!”

“Oh no! That was...just shadows.”

“Oh.” Eugenia beamed. “Well, that explains everything! Mr. Foley here is going to walk me to my room. We had such a wonderful time at the ball tonight, even if I did lose my necklace. Would you like to come with us, Elizabeth?”

She shook her head. “I think I'll stay out here a little longer.”

“Suit yourself.” Elizabeth chuckled as Mr. Foley lead Eugenia through the back door of the Inn, clanging all the way. She leaned back against the bench and closed her eyes, dreaming of the two most charming, bravest men she'd ever known.

Lady Hilary and Lord Jeffery’s Room, An Hour Later

Lady Hilary, now dressed in her nightclothes, was glaring at her husband as he came in the room. “All right, Jeffrey Singer. Would you please tell me what you and that crafty knave of a Sherwood have been doing out so late at night? And why in the name of The Beggar's Opera did you steal my tiara?”

He handed her a box. “Here's your tiara and your jewels, and my rings, too. I told you we'd get them back. We returned everything we stole from the staff of the Inn.”

“You stole your own things?”

“We had to make it look good.” He sat next to Hilary. “Mittens, I can't tell you all of it, but...you deserve to at least know part of what we're doing.”

Hilary pulled her husband closer to her on the bed. She ran her fingers through his curls. “Tell me what you know, Pumpkin.”