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.”