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.