The Adventures of the Crimson Blade 4

Isabella Street, Three Days Later

Scott Sherwood was feeling rather pleased with himself. He'd come up with at least two newspapers who wanted to advertise the Inn. He'd deposited more money in the account he set up for Victor Comstock's causes, including some from the Sweet Tack and Feed Store across town. He even helped Hilary and Jeff set up a play they were hoping would go to New York, though they never did decide if it should be a comedy or a drama.

The one fly in the ointment was Elizabeth Roberts. She'd been avoiding him for the last few days. On the rare occasion she did talk to him, she was distant and cold. He couldn't figure it out. What was wrong with that girl? She almost seemed to be warming up to him before. He closed his eyes, remembering the ball...and everything that happened after it....

He sighed. No time for that mushy stuff now. He had an inn to run. He was looking forward to a lunch of Gertrude's delicious steak and kidney pie and fresh vegetables from the garden with Elizabeth. As he rounded the corner, he noticed a fancy carriage parked in the Inn's small stable. Ahh, he thought, a wealthy traveler. Wonder if I could sell him some shares in seaside property in the western Pennsylvania Colony?

Gertrude, Mr. Eldridge, and Eugenia met him at the front desk. Elizabeth was at the desk as well, studying what appeared to be a book and a paper. Gertrude held out a bottle to him. “Mr. Sherwood, have some wine! We're all having some!”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “So I see. What's going on?”

“There's a man here to see you.” Gertrude hiccuped. “He said it was of the utmost importance that he talks to you right away.” She nearly fell over him. “And that it would be something worth celebrating.”

Scott grinned at Elizabeth. “I know something worth celebrating. Want to share some steak and kidney pie after I get rid of this guy? We could discuss the funds for Victor's causes.”

Elizabeth put the paper back in her pocket. “I'll help you with the new customer, but don't get ideas. I'm not doing anything else with you.”

Scott's grin fell as they made their way to his office. “Elizabeth, what's wrong with you? You've been treating me like the dirt under your fingernails ever since the day after the ball!”

She fingered the paper in her pocket. “I still think you should return that money to the owners, before you or all of us land in jail.”

“Elizabeth, I know what I'm doing. Trust me, nothing is going to happen. No one will ever know.”

Scott opened the door to the office, letting Elizabeth in first. He followed her...and immediately wished he hadn't. Governor Pruitt, resplendent in a fine navy blue suit with silver and black braiding and a flowing white shirt heavy with ruffles, leaned against his desk. Scott fought the urge to push the smirking snake off of it. A smaller, red-haired woman in a dowdy olive-green suit sat in his chair.

“Governor!” He turned on his wide grin, but it felt as false as Pruitt's smile looked. “Well, this is a surprise! What can I do for you, sir? Are you here to discuss the Inn's customers? Our trade has really been increasing lately.”

“So I've heard.” Pruitt's throaty chuckle made Elizabeth shiver. “Miss Cosgrave and I have been going over the books for this little operation of yours. And we've found out some very interesting things relating to the late Victor Comstock.”

Elizabeth tried to suppress a gasp. “What...things, Your Lordship?”

“Oh, about the money that's been deposited for the Patriotic causes he supported by Master Sherwood here.” He circled Scott, whose smile looked increasingly desperate. “Now, how could a man who came to this little spot with nothing more than the clothes on this back suddenly drum up more than three thousand dollars to give to the causes of someone he barely knew?”

“You'd be surprised how much money a guy can earn.” Scott's grin was faltering. “Why don't you and I go out and discuss this over lunch at the Buttery Tavern? I'm sure we could come to some kind of agreement...”

Pruitt pushed him against the wall. “Oh no you don't, Mr. Sherwood. Your charlatan ways may have gotten you past your guests and the staff of this inn, but they won't work on me. I've known far too many knaves like you. You'll be staying right here at the Inn while we conduct a surprise audit.”

Elizabeth could only describe Scott's expression as one of sheer terror.

The Green Parlor Room, Two Hours Later

Mackie Bloom stormed into the parlor. The rest of the residents and staff were already there, finishing lunch. “The Governor himself told me. Scott Sherwood is gone. He fired him. And if we don't like that, we'll be either fired, or thrown out onto the street with him.”

Lady Hilary dabbed at her lips with a linen napkin. “I'm not entirely sure I care. Scott Sherwood's never been terribly respectful of mine and Jeff's noble status or of any of us residents.”

Lord Jeff sipped a cup of raspberry leaf tea. “I'm of two minds on this. On one hand, Scott Sherwood was a con man and a liar. You could never believe a word he said, and he was always ready to sell us all out for the fastest money he could make.” He shook his head. “On the other hand, if we let Pruitt get away with this, it could be our rooms or jobs on the line next.”

“Mr. Sherwood took that money to give to the causes of one of our former residents,” Eugenia insisted. “Doesn't that make him a resident too, even if he didn't live here?”

“Monsieur Sherwood is mon ami,” Maple added. “He has been for many years. He may lie too much and try to cover it, but deep under himself, he is bon homme, a good man.”

Mackie nodded. “It's settled. If Sherwood's out, we're all out.”

Elizabeth looked up from studying the paper. “Do you all think you know Scott Sherwood well enough to defend him like this?”

“Aw, come on, Liz,” Mackie insisted. “We're in this together. We all live and work here.”

Hilary frowned. “If we quit or give up our rooms, Pruitt will just bring in more people to replace us.”

Mackie shook a finger. “Oh, no. Not if we try some new idea I heard about from the guys at the iron works. It's called a strike.”

The Manager's Office, the Next Morning

Governor Rolleigh Pruitt was not a happy man. He arrived at his inn that morning to find the rooms a mess, the beds unmade, no breakfast on the table, and the staff refusing to lift a finger to do anything. The maid vanished the moment he asked her to bring him his newspaper. The little valet only gave him dirty looks. Lord and Lady Singer snubbed him. The two music teachers played discordant notes whenever he drew near their rooms. The messenger boy wouldn't deliver his letters.

He stormed into what was now his office. Scott Sherwood sat in the chair in front of the desk, looking unusually subdued. He wore a plain beige shirt and tan vest and held an unadorned black tri-corn hat, a far cry from his bright suits and heavily plumed headgear. His dark eyes were downcast, and his silver-black hair was a tousled, uncombed mess.

“You're lucky I decided not to press charges.” Pruitt slithered behind the desk. “I demand that you talk to your friends among the staff and residents. They refuse to do their work or tend to the customers. They're trying to devalue the cost of this property. If they don't start behaving, they'll be joining you on the street.”

Scott finally looked up at Pruitt with a despondent, beaten expression. “I don't care what you do to me, but I don't want you to hurt them. I'll tell them.”

He did tell them. At least, what he needed them to know. He gathered all the residents and staff and said he'd gotten another job in Philadelphia at the Schuylkill Inn. He wasn't sure how much they bought his story, especially Maple, but it was something.

Mr. Eldridge met him in the hall. “Elizabeth wants to talk to you in her room. She says it's something about a letter and a book Master Comstock gave to me.” He chuckled. “I don't know why she'd be interested in that, unless she loves limericks, too.”

Elizabeth was sitting at her desk when Scott knocked on the door. “It's open.”

“Hi there, Liz.” He tried to smile. “What was it you wanted to see me about?”

She brought him to her desk. “Mr. Eldridge said you brought this book with you to the Inn, along with that letter of recommendation from Victor.” Her face hardened. “First of all, that letter is entirely too gushing. It sounds like something you wrote to flatter yourself. Second, the signatures on the letter and the book are identical. No signature is ever exactly alike. One signature is forged from the other.”

Scott pulled up a chair next to her. “Liz...Elizabeth...I...I did forge the signature. I was a mercenary for hire who met Comstock in a bar and told him I'd take his mail to Pittsburgh for him. I heard him talk about a sweet, beautiful, smart girl who could run a whole inn on her own and still have time to write stories. I listened to him, and I thought...what would it be like to have a woman like Elizabeth Roberts in my life?”

Elizabeth slapped Scott hard before he could wonder any further. She threw open the door. “I knew from the moment I met you that you could never be a friend of Victor's. You haven't a noble bone in your body. I ignored my instincts because I thought Victor saw something in you...but he didn't. You were nothing to him. You don't care about anyone but yourself. Right now, the staff and residents are on some strike thing, all because of you. They could lose their homes!”

“I already told them to stop.” He stood, playing with his hat. “I never planned on staying here this long. I was ready to leave when Victor Comstock died. Everyone just fell apart after that, including you. Someone had to keep this place moving.” He handed Elizabeth his keys to the Inn. “You're in charge of these now when Pruitt is out of town. Good bye, Elizabeth.” Elizabeth watched, confused and hurt, as he walked away.

And then...Scott Sherwood was standing in her doorway again. “Oh, what the hell.” He drew her into his arms and kissed her. He kissed her passionately, like she'd never been kissed by anyone before, including Victor. She stared down the hallway after him.

The Manager's Office, A Few Minutes Later

Governor Pruitt watched Scott leave out the window of the office. He turned his delighted smirk to Priscilla Cosgrave, his right-hand woman. “That's one nuisance taken care of.” He narrowed his eyes. “If only all our problems were so easily eliminated. That Crimson Blade and his people got away with more than a half-million dollars of jewelry from guests and money from my vault at the Ball. They humiliated me in front some of the most important people in the Pennsylvania Colony!”

“Don't forget what happened to Kurt Holstrom.” Mistress Cosgrave pulled out a newspaper and indicated the front page headline. “He was arrested for spying and attempted sabotage. He was one of our most influential members.”

Pruitt snorted. “He was a bloody fool. I told him putting the codes in the house-side advertisements was too obvious. We'll have to find another way to get our messages across.”

Miss Cosgrave held out an envelope. “R.P, I got a letter today from...her. She's back in town. The owner of the Ursula Gothel, that, er, smuggling ship.” She pursed her lips in distaste. “What you want with that vile German woman is beyond me.”

“Ahh, Pavla DeVile.” He took the letter. “She'll come in handy. You have so little imagination, Cosgrave.” His smirk was evident. “Very handy indeed.”

The Lobby, the Next Morning

Lord Jeffrey Singer couldn't help but notice that there was quite a crowd around the front desk. Gertrude, Mr. Eldridge, Maple Martienne the maid, and Mackie Bloom were all reading over what appeared to be a stack of newspapers and pamphlets. Every single one of them looked angrier than a pack of wet hens. Maple was going on in a litany of French curse words Jeff was glad he didn't understand.

“What's got all of you so riled up this morning?”

Gertrude handed him one of the pamphlets. “It's one of those papers from that...that Jonathan Arnold! The newspaper man who writes for the British. He says that we colonists ought to give up trying to be free and let the English run ragged all over us!”

Mackie nodded. “This guy is a grade-A sleaze. None of this is true!”

Jeff frowned as he read the paper over. “You don't think he's really a colonist, do you?”

Maple finally returned to English long enough to spit out “Non, Lord Jeffrey! Of course, he cannot be a colonist. He is just nasty homme hired by le Roi George to make colonists stay with Angleterre.”

Jeff grabbed the paper. The more he read, the angrier he became. “I was at Boston. I heard them announce the Indecent Acts, I was working with the government...”

“And you nearly got killed while doing so.” Gertrude shook her head. “No one's given more for the American cause than you, Your Lordship.”

Jeff looked up at the painting over the desk. “One man did,” he reminded them softly. “Victor Comstock gave his life.”

Mr. Eldridge took Jeff's pamphlet. “I need to get Elizabeth. She wanted to read these awful pamphlets as soon as they arrived.”

Elizabeth came into the room just in time to hear Maple say “They ought to hang that petit Anglaise traitre!”

“No!” Elizabeth was surprised no one recognized Victor Comstock's florid writing style. “What if he has a good reason for doing this?”

Mackie rolled his eyes. “Why would anyone have a good reason for making the entire Pennsylvania Colony hate him?”

Jeff turned to Gertrude. “I need to get a hold of C.J and have him send a message to General Washington.”

Gertrude nodded. “Certainly, Your Lordship. I've lost my appetite for breakfast anyhow.”

Lord Jeffrey and Lady Hilary's Room, That Evening

“No, Pumpkin!” Hilary grabbed his folded shirt. “I refuse to allow you to go!”

Jeff grabbed the shirt back. “Hilary, just because we're married doesn't mean you own me.”

“Of course not.” She grabbed another shirt and handed it to him. “You forgot this one.”

“Oh.” He finally closed the small trunk. “Hilary, I swear, it'll only be a few weeks.”

“That's what you said the last time. May I remind you that after your last trip to Boston, you came back with bruised ribs and a damaged knee...and one of your closest friends didn't come back at all?”

“I know it's dangerous there right now. I can't promise I won't get hurt...but I can promise I'll do what I can to get back to you.” He took her in his arms and kissed her.

There was a knock on the door as they separated. Jeff opened it to reveal Elizabeth. “Your Lordship, your carriage is outside.” She shook her head. “I don't know what we're going to do here without you. Mackie and Mr. Eldridge will be taking over your chores in the kitchen and gardens and your roles in the plays as well as their own until we can hire a replacement.”

“Pumpkin, no!” Hilary grabbed rope from her pocket and tied their hands together. “I'm not letting you go anywhere!”

Jeff just grinned. “Wait. Where did you get this?”

“From your side of the desk. Goodness only knows where it came from...and I suspect that goodness probably doesn't factor into what you were going to do with it.”

“My side?” Jeff deftly undid the knot...then tied Hilary's wrist to the leg of their bed. “Then I'm gone, my love!” He kissed her again, but this time, Hilary wasn't as amused.

“Then untie me, too!”

“You can untie yourself after I leave.” He rushed downstairs with his luggage, yelling “Just a few weeks, Mittens!”

Hilary's “PUUUMMPKIIINNNNN!” could be heard throughout the entire inn, even as Elizabeth did her best to untie the knots.

The Green Parlor Room, the Next Day

Elizabeth, Lady Hilary, Maple, Gertrude, and Eugenia sat in the green parlor room, all looking frustrated. They'd been interviewing new workers and actors all morning. Not a single person had all the qualifications they needed. In fact, most could barely act their way out of a burlap bag and didn't know a scrub brush from a play script.

“I just hope you're all appreciating how irreplaceable my Jeff is,” Hilary sniffed. “He can weed a garden, scrub a pot until it shines like the noonday sun, and he makes the handsomest Mackheath in all of Pittsburgh. I don't think we'll find anyone who can perform like him.”

“You're going to have to.” Mackie stumbled in, collapsing in a chair next to Maple. “I can't keep workin' the whole Inn by myself an' playin' roles with Hilary! I can't even remember what I'm sayin' half the time!”

Elizabeth nodded. “The next person who walks through that door and even remotely fits the qualifications is hired, if only for Mackie's sake.” She turned to C.J, who stood at the door. “Bring us the next candidate.”

Elizabeth was too busy studying her notes to see the grin on C.J's face or the delighted expressions on the most of the others. “All right. Have you ever weeded a garden, tended to a stable, appeared in any kind of play, scrubbed pots and pans, done dishes, dusted, or done any kind of domestic chores?”

Her head shot up when she heard a voice with a mild Irish lilt she knew very well. “I've done just about everything there is possible to do in the colonies, Lizzie Lizzie Lizzie.”

She finally looked up and into a familiar pair of warm brown eyes. “Scott Sherwood.” It was him, all right. He wore the beige shirt and tan vest she'd last seen him in, but he'd brushed his hair and added a jaunty rust-colored feather to his hat. A small, battered leather trunk lay next to his heavy boots. “What are you doing here? I was told you went to Philadelphia.”

“I changed my mind. What's Philly got that Pittsburgh Village doesn't have?” His grin widened. “I have everything I need right here.”He nudged the valise with the side of his boot. “I did have to give up my rooms after I lost my job, though. Do you have anything open for a weary traveler?”

Elizabeth frowned. “If you take this job, you'll be living in the servants' quarters in the back with Maple, Mackie, Gertrude, and Mr. Eldridge.”

“Sounds good to me.” Scott chuckled. “It's a room, anyway.”

“You also know this job doesn't pay anywhere near what you made as a manager.”

“I'm looking forward to it.”

Elizabeth turned to the others. “What do all of you think?”

Hilary sighed. “Well, we do need the help...and I'm sure Mr. Sherwood will be no worse or better at it than anyone in the village.”

The others were already surrounding Scott with hugs and smiles. “Thanks, Lady Hildy!”

“It's Lady Hilary, Mr. Sherwood. Or, in your case,” she sniffed, “Your Ladyship.”

The Kitchen, the Next Day

Scott Sherwood was late. Somehow, Elizabeth wasn't surprised. When he did appear, he overplayed his role as a kindly gardener in the rehearsal for Lady Hilary's drawing room comedy, turning a comic story of manners into a steamy romance...and completely upsetting Her Ladyship. Hilary sputtered and fizzled, finally insisting to Elizabeth that he be banned from her sight for the rest of the morning.

Elizabeth almost literally shoved him into the kitchen. “Go help Maple get the pots and pans clean, before Her Ladyship strangles you in front of our guests.”

He bowed low before her. “I'll make these pots shine so hard, you'll be able to eat off of them.”

“That's the idea.” She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Maple was already loading the buckets they used to wash dishes. “Bonjour, Scott,” she greeted with a smile. “I think this is our first time working together in legal job, oui?”

“I think you're right.” Maple watched him as he rolled up his sleeves and lifted a stack of heavy copper pots.

“Scott?”

He started scrubbing at the first pot on the pile with a large brush. “Yeah, Mapes?”

“We have been friends a long time, oui?”

“Sure, Mapes!” He pushed hard at a particularly caked-on spot.

She put the dish she'd finished in a stack next to her. “You never left Pittsburgh, did you? You make up job in Philadelphia.”

“Where did you hear that?” He put the pot aside and took a large copper pan covered in grease.

“Oh, this place and that place.” She watched him. “It is not just Crimson Blade, or becoming manager again. It is Elizabeth. You want to get back into her bon grace.”

Scott stared at the pot he was scrubbing. “You know, speaking of the Crimson Blade, maybe he'd better take some time off for a while. I think Pruitt is starting to get ideas. He already raised the price on his head to fifteen thousand dollars.”

Maple raised her eyebrows. “No Crimson Blade? What about....”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Oh, there would still be a Crimson Blade.” He winked at her. “Maple, red is really your color.”

“Moi?” Her eyes widened. “But how could I...”

“I know you can do it. I taught you everything I know.” He tossed the pot on the stack. “Piece of cake!”

The Docks of the Monongahela River, Later That Day

Priscilla Cosgrave normally did not question her boss' commands...but for once in her life, she wished he'd do his own dirty work. Why couldn't he deliver this letter? This unsavory part of the village was no place for a lady. She could hear raucous laughter coming from the bars situated along the riverfront. At least three weather-beaten sailors in threadbare clothes had made lewd gestures at her.

The Ursula Gothel was a large, gaudy vessel, painted in unseemly shades of sea green and brilliant blue. Cosgrave wrinkled her nose at the crude carving of a half-naked mermaid that was used as a figurehead.

“Frouline Cosgrave?” The woman who came down from the gangplank wore tight-fitting trousers and a bright yellow blouse that was open to reveal every bit of her curves. Her long, blondish-brown hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck in a loose bun. Her slanted eyes and exotic features were pulled into a sly smile. “I believe you have something for me.” She spoke in a heavy German accent.

She thrust the letter into her hands. “I don't know why you can't find a better place to tie up your ship. I'm lucky I haven't been robbed...or worse!”

“I don't think any of the sailors here would be interested in a woman of your qualities.” She opened the letter. “I suppose your boss thinks I'll do another job for him.”

“That was the idea.”

She read the letter. A slow, evil smile spread across her face. “Yes. I think I might enjoy this. Tell your...employer...I would love to meet this Lord Jeffrey Singer in Boston.” Her smile grew into a nasty smirk. “And perhaps, even have a talk about his formidable wife who isn't.”