The Adventures of the Crimson Blade 8

The Main Room, 8 AM, Three Days Later

Elizabeth and the staff were wide-awake as soon as the rooster in the hen house in the garden crowed. Elizabeth yawned. She felt terribly tired. She still wasn't sure how the Crimson Blade got her in her room a few nights before...or was that even him who appeared to her in the office? Maybe it was all a dream. It seemed so real, though. His arms felt so warm and safe...

She yawned, trying to clear her head. She couldn't think of that right now. The audience would be arriving soon, along with the reporter from the Pittsburgh Daily Gazette who was to record their feat. She tried her best to be alert, but she'd been up for days trying to get everything ready for the show

Scott helped her greet the reporter at the door. The man was big and stuffy-looking, in a stiff dark suit with little embellishment and a bushy gray mustache. The woman with him wore a simple white and red gown. She was corpulent and sour-looking, with her course dark hair pulled back into a heavy bun and beady jet eyes.

“My name is Clifton Abernathy,” the man stated. “I'm here from the Pittsburgh Daily Gazette to make sure your play continues in the same manner the one at the Weeping Joker Theater did. Miss Brumpton is my assistant. There will be intermissions every two hours of fifteen minutes each. I'll monitor the show from the audience to make certain all the staff is awake. Mistress Brumpton will be in the parlor room, awakening your performers at the appropriate times.”

Elizabeth shook his hand. “It's nice to meet you, sir. On behalf of the staff and residents and myself, welcome to our Inn. I hope you'll enjoy our show.” Scott was frowning at Abernathy, as if he were trying to remember something that eluded him.

Miss Brumpton narrowed her tiny eyes. “I hope you do know that if anyone dozes beyond their allotted 15 minutes of sleep, the Weeping Joker Theater will keep their record.”

“Oh, don't worry,” Elizabeth giggled. “I'm sure they'll all be dreaming of a lot more than 15 minutes of sleep by the end of this.” Abernathy and Brumpton gave her withering looks. “I'm sorry. I've been up for nearly two days, trying to get this all together. I'm going to go to sleep as soon as the play starts.”

Scott put on one of his grins and took Elizabeth's arm. “Would you excuse us for a few moments? We need to talk about the cast list for this.”

Elizabeth didn't like the look in his eyes. “Scott, please tell me that Maple's cold is better! She promised she'd take the other half of the women's roles with Hilary!”

“No can do, Liz. Maple's better, but the apothecary says she's not quite ready for prime show time. You'll have to take her roles.”

“I can't do that! I'm nearly asleep as it is! The only time I've seen my room in two days is to write and change clothes!”

“You'll have a great jump on the rest of us!” He ushered her to the Green Parlor Room to get into costume quickly for the first act.

The Downstairs Hallway, 11 AM

Hilary and Jeff were sitting together on a couch, Jeff rubbing Hilary's shoulders. She didn't care if she was angry with him or not. She was already beginning to feel a little sleepy. “Jeff, have you seen anyone who might want to sabotage the play?”

Jeff shook his head. “No, but we don't have as big of an audience as I'd hoped. I thought we'd at least get the lunchtime crowd. There's too many empty seats out there for all the advertising we did.”

“I just hope Lester's still outside with those two posters he had hanging on himself. What did Scott call them?”

Jeff pushed harder at her shoulders. She sighed. “I think he called them 'sandwich boards.' Lester's a messenger. If anyone knows how to deliver information, it's him.”

Hilary leaned against his arms. “Jeff, I'm just going to close your eyes...my eyes...”

“What are you doing?” Abernathy's grouchy bark immediately jolted Hilary back into wakefulness. “You know there's no sleeping allowed on the job.”

“Oh, no.” Hilary patted Jeff's arm. “We were just discussing all of my Jeffrey's faults. We'd gotten up to number 43.”

“As long as you weren't sleeping.” He stomped to the main room. Hilary hissed at his back.

“Sorry he saw you dozing, darling.” He looked down at her thoughtfully. “I wonder what's up with him, anyway? Did someone catch him on the wrong side of the bed?”

“I wouldn't want to be anywhere near a bed with him on it.” She sighed. “I'm all right, Jeffrey. I've dealt with worse grouches at society tea parties. It's Elizabeth I'm worried about. She's already lacking sleep. She may not last very long.”

The Green Parlor Room, 6PM

Elizabeth wasn't lasting long. Her yawns were getting bigger and bigger by the minute, and her eyes drooped further and further. Not to mention, no one had seen anyone who was even remotely looked like they could be the saboteurs. They were all drinking gallons of tea to keep awake.

Scott stumbled into the parlor, his red coat slung over his arm. “Top o' the morning, Miss Brumpton!”

The corners of her thin lips went down. “But it's evening!”

“Not for me.” He set a large alarm clock. “I'm going to use a little hypnosis trick I picked up when I was a mere pirate lad in Africa to get right to sleep.” He settled down on the cot set up in the room. “Awaken me at the proper time, lass.”

“All right.” She returned to making the Liberty Tea. She looked over her shoulder at the dark-haired man who slept in the cot before hiding the tins. These were special types of tea...ones that would make sure the cast would never make it through the first day.

Brumpton was rather disappointed when Scott leaped out of bed the moment the alarm went off. “Why lass, you almost let me oversleep! I'm due on the stage in twenty minutes.”

She rushed over with a cup of coffee. “Don't you want a little something before you go onstage?”

He pushed the cup away. “To be honest, lass, the tea isn't keepin' me awake anymore. I guess I've developed a resistance to it.” He gathered his coat and made his way to the hall.

Scott was passing through the lobby when he saw Abernathy writing a letter at one of the desks. “What'cha doin', sir? Writing to family?”

Abernathy covered the letter quickly. “Oh, no. Just my employers at the Gazette. They'll need the full dispatch on the first part of the play by tomorrow.” He stuffed the note in an envelope and pressed sealing wax over it. “I'll take this back on my way home for some much-needed rest. Another reporter will be around to take my post in a half-hour.”

Even when tired, Scott's mind was working overtime. “You know, our own messenger could take this to the Gazette for you, for no extra charge, of course. I'll see to it that he gets it right away.”

“Of course. That would be most useful. It would save me valuable time.” He called outside. “Messenger!” Lester, still wearing his sandwich board, trooped in. “I have a letter for you to deliver to the...the Post Gazette.” He looked at Scott, then scrawled something on the letter's envelope. Lester raised his eyebrows. “Take this to this address. If you get there in a half-hour, they'll be an extra two bits in it for you.”

Scott opened the door for Abernathy. “Let me help you out. It's kind of my job as valet.”

The moment Abernathy hit the porch, Scott went to Lester. “Let me read that letter. Something's fishy here.” He carefully opened the seal and read the contents. His eyes widened in shock. “Lester...this isn't for the Post Gazette. The address is for the riverfront. The Post Gazette's office is near the market place.” He quickly resealed it. “Take this to the riverfront. Don't tell Abernathy you let me read it.”

Scott pulled out his ever-present pocket watch. “Oh, would you look at the time? I have to get on that stage, before Hilary remembers she's too tired to commit several murders that aren't in the script.” He gently pushed Lester out the door. “And you have to get moving.” Scott hurried to the stage just in time to hear Hilary's annoyed squawk over his absence.

The Main Room, 8AM, The Next Day

Even as he announced the start of Two Gentlemen of Verona, Lord Jeffrey Singer was struggling very hard to stay awake. Scott Sherwood didn't seem too bad, but Hilary was in and out, Eugenia Bremer was half-asleep over her pianoforte, and Elizabeth looked as if she was about to fall over. It was a good thing they didn't have much of a breakfast crowd. Abernathy had gone home to bed; the man he'd sent to replace him temporarily was snoring in a chair right in the front of the stage.

Jeff was mid-way through a monologue when he heard a soft “thump.” Everyone onstage all turned at once to see Elizabeth somehow asleep sideways on a stool. Jeff scratched his head. “How on Earth did she do that?”

Scott and Mr. Foley hurried over to her. “Lad, the important thing is, how are we going to bring her out of it?” He slapped her face gently, but her only response was gibberish.

Jeff just shook his head. “That's it. She's gone. She's not coming around.”

Scott nodded. “I know.” He turned to the audience. “Uh, due to a...technical malfunction...we'll be taking a five minute break. 'Scuse us.” Mr. Foley and Lester drew the curtains.

Hilary just sat where she was, muttering to herself about coffee and mattresses. “What are we going to do?” Eugenia wailed.

“I have an idea.” Scott turned to Mr. Foley. “Do you have strips of tea-dyed linen and dark berry ink?”

Eugenia beamed. “Of course he does!” Mr. Foley gave her a rather amused look.

The Green Parlor Room, 12 PM

There was no way Lady Hilary Booth was getting out of that cot. Her dreams were too lovely. At least she could sleep in a cot. Poor Elizabeth had collapsed onstage. Scott and Mr. Foley wrapped soft linen the color of her pale skin, with eyes drawn in the center. It looked silly, but Elizabeth was kept in the back, and at least it didn't seem to bother the rowdy lunch crowd too much.

Abernathy gave Her Ladyship a small shove to make sure she was deep in dreamland before turning to Brumpton. “Are you sure that brew will work?”

“I picked it up at the apothecary in the village yesterday. If our herbal tea doesn't work, this will. Did you get a response to that letter?”

Abernathy nodded. “The guards took down all of the remaining posters for the play and replaced them with posters for the Weeping Joker Inn. There will be no audience tomorrow.” He made a face. “Menlow's coming by this evening to look for the Crimson Blade. Apparently, his lady friend will be around tomorrow. I don't trust that man. I wish he didn't have to be involved. I don't care about the Crimson Blade. I haven't seen anyone who remotely looks like a Crimson Blade.”

“Nor have I.” She finished pouring a few drops of the bottle into the tea. “From what I've heard, though, he – or she – is a master of disguise. They could be anyone. Even...” Her eyes drifted to Lady Hilary on the cot.

Abernathy let out a short bark that may have been a laugh. “Her? She's just some aristocrat. She's no more a Crimson Blade than I am.”

Jeff hurried in, stifling a yawn. “Hilary, dear, it's time to get up! You only have a few minutes!”

Hilary shook her head. “Oh Jeff darling, I was having a wonderful dream about being asleep...”

“Hilary!” He shook her hard. “You're due on-stage in ten minutes!”

She pushed him away. “All right. I'll go onstage.” She made a face. “But I refuse to stand on my feet any longer.”

The Main Room, 5 PM

Elizabeth wasn't sure when she awoke. All she knew that she was conscious, and she could hear the audience murmuring, but she couldn't see them. Something was wrong. She let out a screech before she felt a set of strong arms direct her towards her right.

“Scott? Where am I? Why can't I see? Have I gone blind?”

She was never so grateful for her sight as she was when whatever was covering her eyes dropped from her head. She and Scott were in the wings, sitting on a prop bush. “I can see! Thank goodness! It's a miracle! Scott, what happened?”

“You took the world's longest nap right under Abernathy's nose is what happened!”

Elizabeth looked worried. “But I cheated! We're only supposed to sleep for fifteen minutes!”

He shook his head. “Liz, I know a lot more about cheating than you do. You're going to have to finish this play.” He yawned heavily, trying to keep his own eyes open. “Eugenia can barely remember her own name, Foley hasn't spoken in hours, Hilary won't even stand up anymore, Jeff's nearly gone, and I...I have things I need to do.”

Elizabeth saw the hard look in his eyes. “What things?”

“There's someone coming here tonight that I'm going to have to head off. I can't let him know that I'm here. Maple, either, or Jeff and Hilary. His name is Cribby Menlow. He tracks down errant spouses and other minor felons for a price. He's the most persistent weasel in the entire Pennsylvania Colony!”

Elizabeth yawned. “I don't remember seeing anyone like that, but I haven't been...there...for a while. I'll keep an eye out for him.”

Scott nodded. “I'll warn Jeff the next time we have a break. I don't think Hilary's awake enough to comprehend anything but sleep.” His yawn got wider. “Oh, sleep. How I wish...” He pinched himself hard on the arm, wincing. “Ouch!” He finally took Elizabeth by the arm. “All right now, lass. Let's finish that show. Remember, you're going on there a writer, but you're coming back...well, you'll be comin' back a writer.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” They both rushed back onstage.

The Downstairs Hallway, Around 6 PM

“What?” Jeff Singer's eyes were wide. “Why...” he yawned, “would some tracker want me?” His yawn grew even wider. He leaned on the arm of the couch he and Hilary sat on earlier to keep from ending up on the floor.

“Pavla, at least for you.” Scott yawned himself. “Mapes and I go way back with him.” He wobbled, grabbing the other end of the couch. “Let us just be sayin' he's not the laddie to be givin' up.” His Irish accent thickened with every word.

Jeff tugged his oversized velvet tunic. “Good thing we're already in costume. It'll be a lot easier to hide.”

“I'm gonna need a different costume before the night be through, lad.” He showed the bit of red under his own purple striped silk tunic. “The Crimson Blade will be payin' a visit to Master Abernathy tomorrow.” Scott tried for his usual cheeky grin, but it looked more than a little lopsided. “He be wantin' to know what's the connection between him and that little tracker.”

Jeff caught him before he pitched on the floor. “For now, maybe we ought to be onstage. Hilary may have pinched herself long enough to realize she and Liz are doin' monologues to each other.”

The Main Room, 6:45 PM

Jeff was holding onto the back of the couch Hilary reclined in just so he could stay upright. Hilary hadn't left the couch in over an hour. She refused to stand up for more than a few minutes at a time. His eyes kept drooping. The tea in the parlor had long stopped doing anything to help.

That was when he saw...him. Through red-rimmed eyes, he could just barely make out a short man with a scrunched-up face like a sick rat's. The moment Hilary finished her line, Jeff swept her into his arms and carried her to the wings.

“Jeffrey darling, why did you take me from the couch?” She leaned into his arms without thinking. “I was...happy there...”

Jeff tried not to be distracted by how close she was, no matter how tired he felt. He sat her down on the couch. “Hilary, there's a man here. He wants to serve us papers.”

She just stared at him. “Serve us papers? They'd taste terrible!”

“No, I think they're from...” he couldn't contain his yawn... “Pavla.”

“He can serve her to the rats, I think...” She leaned into him again.

He was fighting to keep his own eyes open. “Hilary, listen. Pavla...may not want to let me go...or my title, anyway...”

“She can't have you. I'm holding you now.” She was nearly asleep in his arms. He shook her again.

“Hilary, wake up!” He managed a dazed grin. “Hilary, give me your costume.”

“We can't do that anymore. We're not married.”

“No. We're going to change roles.”

“Yes, let's do that. Pass mine to the left, please.”

The Main Room, 7 PM

Abernathy met Cribby Menlow in the audience. There were quite a few eyebrows raised when Lord Singer walked back on in a dress, while Lady Hilary stumbled in wearing his hose and tunic. Both were much too short for her – she wasn't as tall as he was. The murmuring in the audience got even louder when Jeff started playing Hilary's role, and Hilary read Jeff's lines...at least, as well as anyone was reading lines at that point. Scott had to lean against a wooden tree to stay on his feet. Mr. Foley leaned against Eugenia and was rather pleased to see she didn't mind a bit.

Abernathy frowned. “What are they doing?”

Cribby made a face. “That's the worst-lookin' Antony n' Cleopatra I ever saw in my life!”

“That's Lord Singer and Lady Booth!”

“Really? I thought Lady Booth was a lot better lookin' than that.”

He's the one in the dress! She's wearing the hose!”

“I didn't think they did that kind of stuff in Pittsburgh.”

“Neither did I. I have no idea how they found out, but one of them must have gotten wind of your arrival and warned the others.”

Cribby squinted at Scott. Scott took one look at him and ducked to the back of the stage, behind some scenery. “The guy with the black hair looks familiar.”

“Scott Sherwood. He's one of the menial staff here.”

Cribby looked at his pamphlet that announced the cast and the acts. “Ain't there supposed to be a Maple Martienne in this, too?”

“I was told she was ill and unable to perform. Mistress Roberts took her place.”

“I'd love to have a chat with all of these people. Includin' the guy with the dark hair.”

Abernathy nodded. “Any kind of distraction is appreciated. We need to find out who owns this Inn.”

Cribby shrugged. “I don't care if George Washington owns this inn! I have papers to serve, and I need to find the guy and dame for my boss.”

The Hallway, around 9 PM

Eugenia Bremer never felt so tired in her entire life. She and Mr. Foley were practicing their dancing steps and dousing each other with water to try to keep on their feet. They were doing a rather nice minuet when Eugenia bumped into someone going towards the green parlor room.

Cribby tipped his hat at the plump, amiable lady and her slender friend. “Sorry, ma'am. Didn't mean to disrupt ya there.”

She yawned. “Oh, that's perfectly all right! We're just dancing our cares away. Anything to stay awake!”

Cribby nodded. “Have you seen a Lady Booth and Lord Singer?”

Eugenia could remember a name Scott told her and the cast earlier in the sleep-filled haze. “Is your name Cribby Menlow?”

“Yes, ma'am, it is.”

Eugenia took his hand. “Then I'm Lady Hilary Booth, and this” she put an arm around Mr. Foley, “is Lord Jeffrey Singer.” She tried to imitate Hilary's affectations without falling over. “Of course.” Mr. Foley just gave him the biggest smile he could muster.

“You're both a little...short...for their Lord and Ladyship.”

She playfully nudged his arm. “Oh, you know how the drawings in the newspapers add 30 stone and a meter or two. I'm really....” she nearly fell over him trying to measure a height well above her head, “this tall.”

“Well, that'll be between you n' me, Lady Booth.” He nodded at the Green Room. “I have papers I need both of you to sign.”

Eugenia gave him what she hoped was an alluring smile, but the effect was spoiled by an enormous yawn. “Oh dear! I'm so sorry, but Lord Jeff and I really must get back on the stage. Don't we, Mr. F...um, my darling?” Mr. Foley just nodded dazedly. He didn't really know what was going on, other than his sweet Eugenia just called him “darling.”

“Why don't I just wait for your next break, then?”

“You do that.” Eugenia beamed. “Why don't you have a cup of tea? They've been putting the most wonderful flavoring in it. You could take it in the, uh, office. Don't want to disturb anyone napping.”

“Sure, I'll try a cup.”

Cribby wasn't sure what happened. He took two cups of tea to the office the plump lady indicated. He knew darn well she wasn't Lady Hilary Booth. The little man was no Lord Jeffrey Singer, either. He'd wait until he heard one or the other in the hallway to spring the papers on them.

He wasn't sure when it happened. He drank one cup of tea, hoping it would keep him awake. It did the opposite. He felt even more tired. He drank another. He went back to the still-empty parlor and got another cup. It was after the third cup that he felt his eyes get hazy...and then everything got dark.

The First Floor Hallway, 10 PM

Three heads peered into the manager's office. Scott let out a sigh of relief. “He's out cold.”

Elizabeth nodded. “He's the tracker? The man who is after you and Maple and Jeff and Hilary?”

Jeff was clutching the door. “At least that will buy us some time.” He closed his eyes. “Buy us time...can you buy time....”

Elizabeth grabbed his arm. “Whoa, boy! You've got to get back onstage.” She raised an eyebrow. “And you can go back to wearing trousers for now.” She carefully looked him over. “Besides, that dress clashes with your eyes.”

“Oh, ok.” She gently shoved him down the hall, then turned to Scott. He was leaning against a wall, his eyes shut. “Now, you talk. What's this all about?”

“A few years ago, Maple and I worked on...er....a little job together. We were set up to take the fall from two fellows who claimed they had a new kind of wax for candles and seals. We got out of Boston before he could catch us.”

“And he thinks you're guilty?”

“Sure as hope not.” He stumbled as he reached for his pocket watch. Elizabeth took his arm. “Oh, would you take a look at that time? It's very pretty time.” He gazed dazedly into Elizabeth's warm, dark eyes. “Very pretty.”

Elizabeth blushed. “Let's get you back on the stage.”

The Porch, 7 AM, The Next Morning

Clifton Abernathy did not like dealing with pirates. Or any kind of criminals. He preferred getting his job done. “Look, Captain DeVile, all I know is, he's sleeping at the Inn. He has the papers. He'll deliver them to their Lord and Ladyship as soon as he can.”

“How soon will that be?”

“As soon as possible. It's still early.” He nodded at the dirty, mangy thugs behind her. “Couldn't you have told them to wash up and look slightly presentable?”

Pavla smirked and played with his cravat. “Now, how can they frighten audience away if they do not look frightening?”

“They don't look frightening. They look like they rolled in the nearest manure pile.”

A few snarled behind them. “Aw, now you go and hurt their feelings.” She patted his cravat in place. “How, why don't you go do job and make sure cast sleeps? When Cribby is awake, he will deliver the papers...and we will deliver Crimson Blades to our good friend the Governor.”

“They don't have any feelings!” He pushed her hand off his chest. “I'm doing my job. All I want is for my employer to get the Inn. He promised me the new manager job for the Monongahela after we oust Comstock and the rest of the staff. Now, you start doing yours.” He stomped so hard into the lobby, the wooden porch bounced.

The pirates met two men at the door. “What are you guys doin'?”

One of the men frowned. “We're goin' to see the show.”

“No, ye ain't, boy.” They shoved them off the porch. “Get lost. Ain't no one comin' here.”

Pavla nodded. “Very good. Do that for anyone who tries to get in. I'm going to get cheese and wine at the tavern down the street. When I come back, we will find Cribby.” She smirked. “And perhaps, find Crimson Blades, too.”

The Servants' Quarters, 11 AM

“Madame Gertrude, I am feeling better,” Maple protested as Gertrude brought her a bowl on a tray. “I do not need le chicken soup. I have had so much chicken soup, I feel like I have feathers!” She sneezed miserably into a pink flowered handkerchief. “Why must I get sick now?” She sighed and leaned back in her bed. “How is show going?”

“Not well.” Maple leaned forward and let Gertrude fluff her pillow. “Everyone but Elizabeth is ready to keel over.” Gertrude frowned and pulled her cloak around her shoulders. “I'm going over there right now. I've thought those two people from the Daily Gazette were up to no good. I want to take a look at that tea they've been giving the staff.”

“I'm going with you.” Maple was already getting out of bed. She went to the linen press to find a gown that was somewhat more presentable than her nightdress. “And don't say I am sick! I don't care. These are mon amies, and they have worked hard on this play.” She finally grabbed a simple pale green-striped work dress and pulled it over her shoulders, then grabbed her red wool cloak. She didn't even bother with her stays. She just wanted to make sure the cast wasn't in trouble. “Let us go.”

The Porch, 12 PM

Victor Comstock knew there was something reprehensible going on the moment he saw the ruffians assaulting people at the entrance. He had ridden home from Fort Pitt that morning, only to see paying customers being turned away from the Inn. Maple Martienne stumbled next to him.

“Bonjour, Monsieur.” She blushed, trying to straighten her hair. “Is good to see you. When did you arrive at home?”

“Just this second.” He saw her pale face and heard the sneeze that rattled several bushes. “I thought you were running a cold.”

“I thought you were running hotel.”

He nodded at the pirates at the door. “Contemptible lot. Where did they come from?”

“I do not know.” She made a face. “But I can make crazy guess. I recognize them from the raid on marketplace at Noel. They are Pavla DeVile's men.”

“She's here?” His eyes looked concerned. “We'll need to inform the others. The last time she came anywhere near any of the residents or staff of this Inn, she forced Jeff into an unwanted union and had me placed under hypnosis. No telling what depraved acts she has in mind for our comrades.”

She took his arm. She really liked the feel of his arm. It was surprisingly strong and sinewy under his heavy shirt. “We will use basement entrance. It is not guarded. I already sent Madame Gertrude et Monsieur Eldridge that way.” She lead him through the alley and back to the garden.

The Main Room, 12:05 AM

Victor Comstock couldn't believe his eyes. The stage was sheer, unapologetic madness. Elizabeth stood in the center, reciting all the Shakespearean sonnets she could remember. Gertrude was walking around with Lord Singer, who for some reason, wore his ex-wife's favorite lavender gown. Lady Booth leaned against a wooden window in trousers and a loose white blouse, muttering about her ex-husband flirting with older women. Mr. Foley was pouring buckets of water on himself. Eugenia was doing jumping jacks. Scott Sherwood sat on the floor, staring at his silver pocket watch.

Victor went straight to Eugenia. “Dear God! What is going on here, Miss Bremer?”

“We're doing everything we can to stay awake!”

“So I see.” There were only two audience members, a man with a rather weasel-like face and a larger fellow with a heavy gray mustache and thick gray hair. He turned to them. “May I ask you gentlemen how this occurred? I know sleep deprivation can do unusual things to its victims, but they shouldn't be this depraved!”

Cribby Menlow yawned. “Don't look at me, pal. I'm just the guy waitin' for them to get offstage. I only just got up myself.”

Abernathy just stared at Victor. “I have no idea.” He stood. “Would you excuse me, please.”

Victor watched him leave, then climbed onstage. He went to Hilary next. “Your Ladyship, are you quite yourself?”

“Not sure. Could be me. Maybe Jeff.”

Victor frowned. “I think you should lie down, Your Ladyship. You appear to be ready to collapse.”

“I'll do that. Night-night, Vic!” She fell to the floor, too tired to do anything but sleep where she was.

Victor turned to Gertrude and Lord Singer next. “How much tea did they have to drink?”

Gertrude frowned. “They've barely drank anything else but tea in the last two days!” Lord Jeffrey was reciting every play he'd ever been involved with in Gertrude's ear.

Elizabeth had already turned to Hilary and was trying to awaken her. “No, Hilary, please! We only need to stay onstage five minutes more!”

Scott yawned. “You said that ten minutes ago.” He stared at his watch again, then held it out to Victor. “Vic, what does this say?”

“I assume you can read a watch. You're always pulling it out of your pocket. It says 12:15.”

Scott finally managed to get to his feet. He pointed to the clock that always hung near the stage in the main room. “Then that clock is wrong. Someone stopped it.”

Victor took the clock off the wall. “They removed the mechanisms, probably during one of your intermissions.” He went onstage. “Ladies and gentlemen...uh, gentleman. The Monongahela Inn and Theater has just broken the record for a dramatic performance.”

Cribby stood up, stretching. “Great, skinny. I just need to talk to Lady Hilary Booth and Lord Jeffrey Singer.” He shook his head as Jeff finally sagged in Gertrude's arms, out cold. “Maybe I should wait for a better time. Like when they're awake.” Eugenia and Mr. Foley were already asleep on the couch on the set, Mr. Foley's head pillowed in Eugenia's lap.

Victor nodded. “Yes, I'd recommend you do that. They'll need at least eight hours of sleep or more after the past few days of non-stop performance.”

Elizabeth turned to Scott, the only other actor onstage who hadn't passed out. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Scott admitted, his Irish accent slurring badly. “I have somethin' I need to be dealin' with.” He stumbled off the stage, quickly shoving the watch into his pocket on his way.

Cribby watched him leave. “Who is that guy? I know I've seen him before.”

“I've asked that same question for weeks.” Victor frowned. “Sherwood is a fine worker and a decent actor, but I believe he isn't telling us the whole truth about his identity or his activities outside of the Inn. There's more to that Irishman than meets the eye.”

Gertrude and Mr. Eldridge made their way over to Victor with a large earthenware jar, dodging the sleeping bodies on the stage. “Mr. Comstock, I really think you should see this.”

The Green Parlor Room, That Same Moment

Maple Martienne didn't like the look of that Abernathy man. There was something self-centered and almost smug about him. He's up to no good. I'm sure of it!

Her suspicions were confirmed when she walked into the parlor room and saw Abernathy and a fat, beady-eyed woman pouring something from a glass bottle into a teapot. She ignored the big sneeze coming on and darted over to them. “Oh no, you do not! I do not think you should do that!”

Victor Comstock entered just in time to see Maple yank the bottle away from Abernathy's grasp. “Look at what I have found! They put some of this into tea! I am certain it is drug for sleeping.”

She handed Victor the bottle. He turned his piercing mahogany glare to Abernathy. “It's Valerian. An herbal sedative that aids insomniacs and other people who can't sleep in getting some relaxation.”

Gertrude waved the jar. “I found this in the hall clothes press. It's a fruit tea...an herbal tea.”

Mr. Eldridge pointed at Miss Brumpton angrily. “She told me it was a flower tea!”

“No, herbal,” Victor explained. “Herbal tea is good for soothing your nerves, but it has nothing in it to keep you awake.”

The door flung open as Gertrude and Mr. Eldridge were gasping. The Crimson Blade, in full regalia from his black hood to his bright red shirt to his high leather boots, stumbled into the room. He held up his sword, but his gloved hand trembled. A none-too-happy Elizabeth followed him.

“This man is a liar and a cheat.” He lifted the sword as close to Abernathy as he could. “He's workin' for Crawley at the Weepin' Joker Inn. He's their manager. This be the man I overheard talkin' to him the other day. Aye, I thought I recognized ye. He, Crawley, and their business partner wanted to sabotage the play. Crawley wants the record to remain his. He's after the Inn, and all the ideas we...ye have generated for it. He ordered the posters taken down. The more people hear about our little hotel, the less they go elsewhere...including to the Weeping Joker.”

Victor's eyes narrowed further. “I wouldn't be surprised to learn that the miscreants at the front door were your idea as well, Abernathy.”

Elizabeth looked worried. “What miscreants?”

“He's got some dirty thugs standing guard at the door, keeping paying customers out.” Maple sneezed. “That's why you had an audience of deux this morning.”

“They aren't my miscreants! They were my employer's suggestion!”

Brumpton glared at him. “I didn't know anything about this. I've been in here for most of the last few days.”

Victor blocked Abernathy at the door. “I already sent Lester to bring the police. Thankfully, the miscreants seem to have fled. I suppose they felt their presence wasn't required once the show reached its conclusion.”

Maple grabbed Brumpton's fleshy arm. “Don't think you go anywhere, soeur.”

The Crimson Blade's tired brown eyes blazed. He finally dropped his sword and went right into Abernathy's face, holding up a black-gloved fist. “Abernathy, I'll be tearin' ye limb from limb, ye two-timin', stiff-necked swine!” Elizabeth saw him sway and caught him just in time. He leaned on her arm. “Just as soon as I be finishin' me nap.”

Maple saw The Crimson Blade fall the floor next to his sword. She hurried to help Elizabeth get him onto the couch. “I wonder what's gotten into him?” Elizabeth fretted.

“They must have drugged him somehow, or he partook of the same tea as the staff and cast.” Victor was leading Abernathy out the door. “Elizabeth, tend to the Crimson Blade. Make sure he's unharmed. I'm sure there's a plethora of policemen who will want to learn more about how he discovered this knowledge.”

Maple gulped. She wanted to help her friend, but she didn't want to give herself away. Someone had to take over their work. “You take care of him, Elizabeth. He is bon homme. He is not bad, as some people say. He has his reasons for doing what he do.”

Elizabeth saw the real concern and fear in Maple's brown eyes. “I will, Maple. I promise.”

The moment she was alone with him, she couldn't resist. “I'm sorry,” she told the sleeping man as she sat down on the couch alongside him. “I have to know. I already kind of do know. Maybe I've known for a long time, but didn't want to admit it.”

She slowly tugged the hood away from his head. Somehow, she wasn't surprised to find the familiar face of Scott Sherwood underneath, his breathing heavy and his thick dark hair in disarray. “Oh Scott,” she murmured, cradling him in her arms, “why? Why did you do this? Why did you risk so much?”

His blood-shot eyes opened briefly. “Didn't want to lose you...not like them...not like home...”

She held his head close to her. “Shh, Scott. It's the sleep deprivation talking. You need rest.”

His eyes were already closing, his voice lost in a fog of sleep. “Love...love you...”

She smiled a little. “I love you too, Scott Sherwood.” But his head had already dropped onto her breast. He snored lightly. She leaned over him and gave him a little kiss on the forehead. She couldn't help it. He looked so gentle and helpless sleeping there, like a little lost boy playing bandits and Indians.

She finally let him go, stretching and yawning. She needed to help Victor with Abernathy and the police, and then some real rest in her own bed upstairs. For now, she'd get something besides tea to drink, then see if she could get Scott out of that outfit, or at least hide the hood, sword, and red shirt. They were a little too obvious. Elizabeth thought she heard footsteps down the hall, but she assumed it was Victor and Maple. If she'd turned around even a little at that moment, she would have seen someone very different...and very unwelcome.

“That's him.” Cribby Menlow lead the woman in the colorful, tight-fitting suit and several of the “miscreants” who had been at the door into the parlor. “That's the guy Governor Pruitt paid me to find for him. He's been lookin' for this jerk for years.”

Pavla yanked Scott by his hair. He winced, barely conscious.“This is Herr Crimson Blade, all right.” She held up the hood. “This is what he use to hide himself.” She yanked his head harder, throwing the hood on the floor. “No more. He is ours now.”

“Hey,” Scott croaked. “what...who...” His hazy eyes drifted toward Cribby. “Menlow...Pavla?”

“Oh yeah.” Cribby smirked. “I'm gonna get a pretty penny for this guy. There's a price on his head that would pay for the Ursula Gothel three times over.”

Pavla laughed as they bound Scott hand and foot with heavy rope. “So this is the indestructible Crimson Blade! A mere kitchen worker. How...amusing.” Pavla roughly wound a linen napkin from the tea table in his mouth. Two of the men threw what looked like burlap bags over him. “Shall we take our prize to my ship? Someone will be arriving who would very much like to have a little chat with him.”

Elizabeth saw the retreating backs go down the hall, but she assumed they were guests. “Scott?” She entered the parlor...only to see Scott wasn't there. She picked up his hood. “Scott?” Scott wasn't anywhere in the parlor. He wasn't in the manager's office either, or the kitchen.

She met Victor and Maple coming from the lobby as she hurried down the hall. “Have either of you seen Scott?”

Maple looked worried. “He is missing?”

Elizabeth nodded. “He was sleeping in...well, he was sleeping, but now he's not there. He was so tired. I don't know where he could have gotten to. I don't think he'd make it to the servants' quarters.”

Victor frowned. “We'll help you search for him. He's in no condition to be wandering around.”

Victor went on ahead. Maple stopped Elizabeth. She indicated the black fabric clutched in her right hand. “How did you get that? That is the hood of the Crimson Blade!”

Elizabeth looked around her. Seeing that Victor was already in the lobby and the hall was empty, she whispered “Maple, I know Scott is the Crimson Blade. It all makes sense. He saved me at the ball. No wonder he knew about the codes. He was the one who broke them. He came to me later that night in the garden. He may even have wanted to tell me his identity then, but Eugenia and Foley walked in.” She put her hand on Maple's arm. “You took over after that, didn't you?”

She just barely nodded. “Oui. I have been member of his organization for long time. When the price on his head got high and Pruitt was breathing up our necks, he told me he would let me play role while the heat fell down.” She looked right at Elizabeth. “I think what he really wanted to do was try to get back into your heart. That is what he cared about. He cared about you.”

“I don't know what to think.” She rubbed her head. “Let's find him first. Maybe we'll finally get some answers.”

The Main Room, A Few Minutes Later

Eugenia Bremer was having a lovely dream. She was dreaming that she was playing the lightest, fluffiest pianoforte with Mr. Foley by her side. Someday, she really needed to find out what his first name was...

Mr. Foley's eyes fluttered open briefly as loud voices could be heard in the lobby. “We have to get him to the ship, before Comstock and his little writer find out he is gone.”

“Pavla, I don't like this. You don't want His Lordship. Why rake him over the coals?”

“He can get me what I want. I want to be on the stage, with money of my own and adulation that doesn't come from skewering a man. I want to do more than act my way out of trouble with the authorities.”

“You could do a lot more than act with me, baby.”

“I'll consider it.” Eugenia didn't hear what else they said, and she didn't care. Her dream was coming back...and Mr. Foley was just about to say the sweetest things to her, even if she couldn't hear them over the pianoforte...