The Adventures of the Crimson Blade 7

The Manager's Office, The Next Morning

Elizabeth had never been happier. Ok, so they were still in danger of having their rents raised and the Inn could still be purchased by someone else. Victor was home. With his help, they'd think of an idea together that would save the Inn and its residents.

The was one nagging thought in the back of her head. Scott. It was assumed that Jeff and Victor would resume their original duties once they returned from Boston. Scott was no longer needed in either the plays or the kitchen. And what would happen when Victor found out how Scott got his job in the first place? Strangely, Elizabeth found herself disappointed at the idea of him leaving. Maybe they could find something for him to do, attend to the chimneys or the garden when the winter ended.

She and Scott had been asked to meet Victor in what was once more his office. Scott met her at the door, dressed in brilliant blue. “Good morning, Liz. Sleep well?”

“Like a baby.” She smiled. “Isn't it beautiful today? It's never felt so magical.”

“Yeah.” Scott took her hand. He noticed she didn't pull it away. “About what I said yesterday...”

Elizabeth blushed. “I think...well, you said that in the heat of the moment. You didn't really...”

But I did mean it. I meant it with all my heart. All he could say was “I couldn't...I mean, I...”

The door to the office opened. Victor Comstock, wearing a subdued brown suit, watched them in amusement. “Good morning, Mr. Sherwood and Miss Roberts. I believe I'm ready to discuss the Inn with you.”

Elizabeth, whose face now resembled the flames in the cooking fireplace in the kitchen, ducked into the office, followed by Scott. They both sat in chairs opposite Victor. He looked more like his old self, tall and thoughtful in his heavy dark chair. “Now, I've been going over the logs for the running of this Inn for the past year, and I have to admit, I'm very impressed. You've been coming up with some incredible ideas. Starting a small general store here to sell our own products and increase revenue! Running our very own in-house publication! Holding an outdoor play in conjunction with the local spring festival.” He smiled proudly. “Elizabeth, I never thought of these things! These are truly ingenious notions.”

Elizabeth looked embarrassed. “I didn't think of them, either. They were Scott Sherwood's ideas.”

Scott shook his head. “Oh, we worked on them together, Vic. Elizabeth did more with them than I ever could.” He sighed. “But I really need to tell you how I got here in the first place. Neither Elizabeth nor anyone else at the Inn had anything to do with it.”

Victor nodded. “You haven't told me what it is that you do here. You work as a...kitchen laborer?”

“I do now.” He looked right into Victor's eyes. “Before that...I ran the Inn.”

“You...ran the Inn?” Victor quirked an eyebrow. “Based on what qualifications?”

“Based on...my forging a letter and lying that I knew you well to get the job.”

Elizabeth looked from Scott's worried face to Victor's unreadable one. “Miss Roberts,” Victor said slowly, “could you leave us alone for a few minutes?”

“Um, yes.” She stood up and hurried out...but the moment she left, she leaned her ear against the door.

“You're a very bright fellow, Sherwood,” Victor was saying. Elizabeth could hear chairs scraping on the wood floor. “Using the sides of our own Inn to hang advertisements large enough for a crowd to see them. Brilliant thinking. I just wish I could remember meeting you in Boston. Now, where do you want me to...”

“Wherever you'd like, Victor.”

Elizabeth heard the smack, the groan and the fall backwards. She jumped away from the door just in time to see Scott and Victor walk out, talking animatedly. Scott held a hand over his right eye. “Why don't we discuss ideas for running the Inn while we find some ice for that eye?” Victor was saying.

“I think a good steak will do the trick.”

“That's a fallacy. It only works because it's been in the ice house. A friend of mine told me...”

Elizabeth just shook her head as the duo made their way to the kitchen. The last thing she expected was for them to be friendly, even after Scott revealed his deception. Gertrude and Mr. Eldridge joined her in the hallway. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, they just, uh, had something to discuss.” She saw how excited the Inn's two oldest servants were. “What's going on? Mr. Eldridge, you look as if you've won a thousand dollars!”

He grinned. “Oh, I have! Actually, three thousand, but that's just the addition of a few extra zeroes, isn't it? Mathematics can be amazing.”

“He won the town raffle!” Gertrude squeezed his arm. “He has money to burn!”

Mr. Eldridge went through his jacket. “Or, I had money to burn. The ticket was here a minute ago...”

Elizabeth, Mr. Eldridge, and Gertrude were still searching all over the lobby when Lady Hilary and Lord Jeffrey stormed into the room. “Hilary, why are you still ignoring me? I told you why I did it yesterday, in front of everybody!”

Hilary flounced towards the main desk. “You seem to forget that not only did you abandon me, a fair flower of one of the noblest houses of England, but your harlot of a nautical sea-tramp had me abducted in cold blood! I could have been killed!”

“She wouldn't have killed you! She was holding you for information.” He held out a packet of letters that were sitting on the front desk. “Hilary, just read these. I wrote them weeks ago, explaining everything.”

Elizabeth went up to the bickering pair. “Have you seen Mr. Eldridge's raffle ticket?” She turned to Mr. Eldridge. “What did it look like?”

He opened his fingers. “Well, it was on blue paper, just about the size of a long rectangle...though how you can wreck a tangle is beyond me...”

Hilary held up a packet of blue papers. “These are all I care about.”

“Hilary, if you'd just read them....”

“No! I'm through with listening to you!” She started towards the fireplace.

Gertrude shook Mr. Eldridge's arm. “Tom, didn't you say the ticket looked sort of like those letters?”

Mr. Eldridge nodded. “Yes, exactly like them.”

Elizabeth groaned and reached for Hilary. “Oh no! Your Ladyship...”

But Hilary threw the letters into the fire before anyone could stop her. “There's what I think of your letters and your explanation!” She stormed off, with Jeff on her heels.

Elizabeth, Mr. Eldridge, and Gertrude watched the papers burn dispiritedly. “Oh, well,” signed the old man. “Easy come, easy go.”

The Lobby, That Evening

“Are you sure you want to buy this place, Uncle Thomas? It's just a little inn. I could find you something much better.”

Mr. Eldridge smiled at his great-nephew. “Oh, I'm sure, Harold.” He looked around. “This place is like a home to me. In fact, it is my home.”

“I'm glad you found that ticket in your room. Otherwise, you wouldn't have been able to make the bank before it closed.”

He patted the young man's hand. “Understood completely.”

The Green Parlor Room, A Few Hours Later

Maple and Scott sat in the darkness, eating dinner and drinking ale. Well, Scott was drinking ale. In fact, Scott now had three bottles of ale next to him and was working on a fourth. Maple was still drinking the same bottle she'd had for an hour. Maple finally put down the slice of smoked ham.

“Scott, what is the problem? I have never seen you this upset before!”

He stared morosely at his ale. “Maple, the rest of our band is in jail, just because they helped me. C.J is in jail. He's too smart of a kid for that.” He took another swig. “Victor Comstock has returned from the dead, a man whom everyone admires and reveres, including the woman I love. And hell, I like the guy! We actually had a pretty good chat about ideas to get the Inn going this morning.” He rubbed his pulsing bruise. “After we got the ice for my eye.”

Maple turned almost as red as her hair. “Scott, I...landed on Victor yesterday.”

Scott raised the one eyebrow that didn't throb. “You landed on him?”

“I wanted to rescue C.J, but I guess I didn't aim right. I ended up on Victor.” Her huge smile got even bigger. “It felt...it felt bon. He is tres beau, no?”

“I don't think he's that good-looking,” Scott grumbled.

Now Maple was the one staring into her ale. “Scott, he does not know me. I told him I was Crimson Blade. I was still in costume! What could I say? I do not think his mind was entirely his own then.” She sighed. “When I brought him his ham and beans for lunch, he spoke to me as if he barely recognized me.”

Scott looked blearily up at Maple. “How about we make a deal? You keep Victor Comstock occupied when he's here, and I'll keep working on Liz. Sooner or later, she's gotta thaw out and he's gotta notice you.”

Victor chose that minute to poke his head in. “I'm closing the manager's office for the night, Sherwood. You can lock the doors here when you're finished.”

“Sure thing, Vic.”

“Actually, I prefer Victor.” He nodded at the bottles. “And don't forget to sell those to the glass collectors. We could use the extra money for food and supplies.”

Maple gathered her dishes. “I'll just take these to the kitchen.”

Victor smiled and offered Maple his arm. “Would you appreciate an escort to the kitchen and servants' quarters, Miss Martienne? It is after nightfall.”

“That's very gentile of you, Monsieur Comstock.” She gathered the dishes in one arm and Victor's offered arm in the other. She grinned at Scott over her shoulder. “Do not wait up for me.”

Scott had absolutely no desire to lock up anytime soon. He just felt like brooding. “Everyone can get love, except for me. Even Victor Comstock.” He threw the empty bottle in the fireplace, making the flames spit and roar. “Damn it! Damn him, too! Him and Pruitt and...all of it.”

“You're so articulate at this hour of the night.” Lady Hilary Booth managed to get her fashionably wide skirts into the room. They took up almost the entire chair she settled down in. “How much ale did you have to get yourself this drunk?”

“Go to hell, Hildy. I'm not in the mood for your mouth right now. And I don't care if you're a lady.”

She ignored his insults. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough.” He glared at Hilary. “What do you care? You have Jeff.”

“No, I don't have Jeff. As you may recall, he married another woman.”

“Hilary,” Scott spat, “he explained why he did it. I know you were hurt, but lives were at stake!”

“Don't you start standing up for him!”

“I don't see you doing it.”

Hilary leaned back as well as she could in the chair. “Jeff shattered me deeply, so I'm doing the same to him. What's good for the goose is good for the gander, after all.”

“In this case, I don't think it's good for anybody.” He reached for another ale, despite the fact that he was already swaying a bit. “Hildy, Jeff is devoted to you. If I could get Elizabeth to look at me, even once, the way Jeff looks at you...”

“You're still in love with her?”

“I've been in love with her since the first time I saw her. She's everything I ever wanted in a woman. I've had other women, dozens, but none of them were like her.”

“I've had other men, too. Maybe not dozens. More like...hundreds.” She sighed. “But none of them were like Jeff. I just wish he'd learn to look before he leaps into a marriage contract he can't get out of.”

“And Elizabeth is in love with a man who's more in love with his ideals.”

Hilary looked right at Scott. “But you love Elizabeth. Not just her mind. You love her.”

Scott scowled and pulled out his oft-seen pocket watch. “Oh, would you look at the...hey!”

Hilary was easily able to snatch the watch from Scott's ale-weakened grasp. “Where did you get this? It's a good quality item. Very finely crafted. It's not a cheap trinket you purchased from one of the market sellers.”

He reached for the watch, but she held it away from him. “Gimme that, Hildy! It's mine!”

“Stop behaving like a five-year old.” She dangled the watch chain from her fingers. “I'll give it back to you if you tell me how you got the bloody thing. Did you steal it from some noble family?” She made a face. “And for heaven's sake, don't call me Hildy! My name is Hilary!” She smirked. “Or in your case, Your Ladyship.”

“All right, I'll tell you.” He gestured at the watch. “It did belong to a wealthy family, but I didn't steal it. It was given to me by a good friend, the family's only son, before he...before he died.”

Hilary frowned. “Who were they? What happened to them?”

“They're all dead now.” He opened another bottle of ale. “Died in a fire in their home in Nantucket in the Massachusetts Colony years ago.”

Hilary took the bottle. “Scott, I'm never going to get the full story if you're too inebriated to tell it.”

“All right already!” He leaned back. “Michael O'Rourke was originally a butcher in Ireland. He had a silver tongue and a gift for twisting the truth, which is why they were always in and out of money and scrapes with the law. He and his wife Fiona had to leave Ireland after he made a few too many bad investments that left them heavily in debt. They settled in Nantucket with his older sister and young son, hoping to leave the blarney behind and start fresh. Did pretty well for themselves, too. They had a darn good fishing and whaling business going.”

He looked into the fire. “The son was a good friend of mine. We left home at fourteen. We were bored and wanted to see the world. We lied about our ages and joined a pirate vessel as cabin boys.” He shook his head. “We eventually worked our way up to becoming captain and first mate by the time we were twenty, raiding towns and taking anything we could get our hands on.”

Scott's face darkened. “We sometimes ran jobs for a certain English lord who was then beginning to become involved in politics. He was too good to dirty his nose with under-handed dealings, at least where people could see him. We were running arms to the colonies, including some weapons that are banned here. They were supposed to go to the British army.” His lips tightened into a small smirk. “I thought some rebels who were fighting a landowner could use them more. Pr...my boss didn't like that.”

“What happened to your friend?”

“We sold the ship and fled back to Nantucket. Unfortunately, our boss and his men followed us there.” Scott nodded at the watch. “He'd already taken Michael's land and business to pay for his debt and for taxes. The silver watch, which Michael bought in Ireland during one of his runs of luck, was one of the few heirlooms he was able to keep safe from the English.” His voice became strained. “They killed Michael and Fiona in front of us when we tried to buy off the rest of their service. He burned the house with them and their son in it. I escaped with his aunt and the watch.”

Hilary handed Scott the watch. “I heard of the O'Rourkes when I lived in England. They were basically con-artists who got very lucky. I always wondered what happened to them.”

Scott gently put the watch back in his jacket pocket, then turned to Hilary. “How would you like a chance to get back at Jeff?”

Hilary raised an eyebrow. “You have my attention.”

“I have a little scheme I'm hoping to pull.” He smirked. “If you don't mind being married again.”

“As long as it's not to Jeff. At least, not for a while.”

Scott winked at her, or tried to. He ended up wincing. “I think this will help both of us.”

The Manager's Office, Early April 1775

Elizabeth Roberts was frustrated. She thought everything would be perfectly fine and back to normal once Victor took his job as manager back. That didn't prove to be the case. Victor spent more time at Fort Pitt, writing pamphlets for the Patriot cause, than he did behind his desk at the Inn. While Elizabeth admired his ideals and his vigorous writing, she couldn't help but wish that for just one moment, he'd stay home and spend a little time with her.

It didn't help that they were short-handed again. Mackie Bloom had gotten a job with a traveling acting troop putting on Hamlet. He'd left over a month ago. Scott had eagerly taken over his duties as valet, gardener, and actor, but he'd been vanishing again. Hilary and Jeff spent most of their time bickering over his marriage and paying attention to little else.

Elizabeth was hoping the play she wanted to put on would make her feel better. She dropped the huge stack of papers on Victor's desk. Victor paged through the Bible-sized volume. “It looks as if several forests gave their lives for this.”

She beamed. “This is what I was working on when you, uh, died. It's my blending of all of Shakespeare's Italian-set stories. I call it 'When In Rome.' “

Scott Sherwood burst into the office at that moment, clutching a poster. “I can't pin up this announcement in the lobby!”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I know. I've seen you deal with the pins. With Mackie gone, though, that's now your job.”

“No, Liz, it promotes the competition. It's about the two-day readings of Shakespeare one of the actors at the Weeping Joker Theater, next to the Weeping Joker Inn, did.”

“Did you say 'two-day'?” Victor went to the duo standing behind his desk. “I think I've found a way to please both of you.”

The Green Parlor Room, Later That Morning

“Me?” Hilary beamed. “You want me to appear in an epic romance?”

“We wouldn't dream of having anyone else.” Victor grinned at her. “You are our most praised and admired actress. The populace can't get enough of you.”

Scott handed her a cup of hot cocoa. “And you could give the show that all-important element - class. You make anything look like a thousand bucks, Your Ladyship.”

“Thank you, Scott.” She frowned. “I like cinnamon on top of my cocoa. You do remember that.” She sat back in her chair and turned to Victor. “All of Pittsburgh here to see me, in a genuine tragic romance filled with sword fights and drama.”

Victor nodded. “The rest of the staff has given the idea a resounding 'yes.' The real question, however, is what the most beloved heiress in Pittsburgh society thinks.”

Hilary nodded. “Yes, I love the idea! So many roles to play....so many men in the audience...” She turned back to Scott. “When does the show begin?”

Scott sprinkled the cinnamon on her cocoa. “Tuesday at 8 AM.”

Hilary sipped her cocoa. “Much better. And...when does it end?”

“Thursday at 12 PM.”

Hilary nearly choked on her cocoa. “What? How....”

“I've already contacted the local newspapers,” Victor explained. “They're sending someone to document the event. The news may reach as far as Philadelphia, or even New York or Boston.”

Her eyes became dreamy again. “Now that's something I like to hear. I haven't been in a newspaper since Jeffrey and I left England.”

“Elizabeth, Eugenia, Mr. Foley, and I are about to put up the posters now.” Scott patted the sheath of papers on the table. “We'll hang them in the market place and at the town hall, anywhere we can attract an audience.”

“And I'll hang them at Fort Pitt when I go there later today.” Victor smiled. “This will bring the Inn plenty of positive publicity. Imagine, a group of humble actors and, er, nobles, performing something that has never, ever been attempted in our time. It could put us in the record books, Your Ladyship.”

“The record books...” Hilary clapped gleefully. “I'll do it! It sounds like a breathtaking idea. After all, I've always said I should be more well-known. Perhaps I'll even get a letter from the great producers in Philadelphia and New York soon.”

Scott chuckled. “Maybe you will, Your Ladyship.”

The Riverfront, Pittsburgh Village, That Afternoon

Scott's legs were sore. He, Elizabeth, Mr. Foley, and Eugenia had spent most of the afternoon hanging posters anywhere they felt an audience would see them. Posters for their play and the Inn now resided on trees, in businesses, on the sides of buildings, and on the community board outside of the town hall. They put advertisements in both of Pittsburgh's newspapers.

Eugenia and Mr. Foley had walked on ahead. Eugenia was chattering in her amiable way. She never let Foley get a word in edgewise, but he didn't seem to mind. He listened dreamily to every word.

Elizabeth smiled at their backs. “They're awfully sweet together, aren't they?”

“Yeah.” Scott grinned. “Foley told me he's really grown very fond of Eugenia. He keeps missing notes when they give lessons because he can't concentrate with her around.”

Elizabeth shivered. “Cold, Liz? It is getting kind of late.” He took off his red woolen cloak without thinking and draped it around her. “Here. This should help.”

“Thank you, Scott, but it's not necessary.” She tried to hand it back, but Scott just pulled it further over her shoulders.

“I'm wearing a coat. You really should have brought your own cloak.”

“It was so warm earlier in the day, I didn't think I'd need it.” Elizabeth yawned. “Maybe we should be getting back. I need to revise the script for 'When In Rome,' and we all need to rehearse.”

He held up a poster. “I have one left to do, Liz. Why don't you, Foley, and Eugenia run along? I'll catch up with you later.”

“Be careful, Scott. I've heard the Crimson Blade's been seen again, stealing from British nobles on the highway and here in Pittsburgh. I don't want you to be robbed, or...” she looked down, “worse.”

Scott gave her one of his famous big grins. “Don't worry, Liz. I could handle the Crimson Blade if I ran into him. I'm pretty good at taking care of myself.”

“All right.” Elizabeth smiled. “I'll see you tomorrow for our first rehearsal.”

“I'll be there with bells on!” He watched as she ran to catch up with Eugenia and Foley, then turned in the opposite direction. He did have one last poster to hang, but that wasn't entirely the reason he wanted to stay by the river. He had his suspicions about James Crawley, the owner of the Weeping Joker Inn and Theater. He'd dealt with Crawley in the past. A few months ago, Crawley wanted to combine the two Inns and share their resources and their staffs, but Scott and Lady Redmond turned down his offer. He wasn't going to take their breaking his inn's record lying down.

He noticed a poster advertising the Weeping Joker's feat on a maple tree outside the building. He smirked, took the poster down, and hung theirs in its place. “Much better.” He tossed the original poster behind a bush, then quietly made his way into the small brick building. He ducked into an alcove just off the lobby. As he took off his coat, a flash of red could be seen glinting in the late afternoon sun...

The Manager's Office of the Weeping Joker Inn, A Few Minutes Later

James Crawley, a tall, balding man with a rather nasal voice, leaned against his desk, looking intrigued. “And in return for helping get the Governor out of jail, you'll find out who owns the Monongahela Inn. I tried to buy it a month ago, but someone got there before I did. No one knows who did it. The purchase was made anonymously by a second party.”

He made a face and indicated a poster for 'When In Rome.' “I don't want this play to go on. The Monongahela's become entirely too popular for my liking. Reservations at the Weeping Joker have been down for months. They've all been going to the Monongahela. 'They have everything going on,' people say. 'Their staff is pleasant and the plays are creative and fun,' they say. And what do they say about here? We've been losing revenue, all because of them. When I buy the Inn, I'll make sure all of those great ideas go here.”

“I think we can work together,” said a stiff, gravely voice. “The Governor isn't any fonder of these people than you or me. One of my people and I will be at the show.” The chair he sat in scraped across the wooden floor. “We have our own ways of dealing with them.”

Crawley's voice sounded annoyed. “And what about Menlow? I thought he was supposed to come around the Inn for the show. I don't know why the boss hired that little creep.”

“I don't, either. Something about him and his woman looking for The Crimson Blade.”

Crawley's voice let out a surprised squeak. “The notorious highwayman? What would he be doing hanging around a tiny hotel in Pittsburgh Village?”

“She.” The voice coughed. “Rumor has it that there's two Crimson Blades, one male, one female. Apparently, Menlow's been seeking both Crimson Blades for years. The Governor entirely obsessed with having him and his new lady friend track him – or her – down. They've been questioning some of their men, but they won't talk.”

Crawley's chair scraped. He took the man's hand. “I don't care about the Crimson Blade. That's Menlow's territory. The Governor can chase after anyone he likes, as long as he keeps bankrolling the Weeping Joker Inn. Besides, the Crimson Blade would never come here, with the guards' protection.”

“I hope you're right.” He stood, taking a poster off the desk. “I have a busy day of taking posters down tomorrow. We can't let this play get publicity.”

The man with the gray hair and bushy mustache who walked out the door didn't see the shadowy figure hiding at the end of the hall. Nor did Crawley. He was too busy reading over the poster for the Monongahela Inn's extravaganza. He didn't even look up when the door opened again. “Just leave the tea on the desk, Mildred.”

“I'm not Mildred.” Crawley looked up to see a large, imposing figure in the darkness. He wore a bright red shirt and dark breeches. His face was covered by a black hood, except for his firmly pressed lips and his softly glittering dark eyes.

Crawley's mouth dropped open. “I know you! I know you from the reward posters! You're the Crimson Blade! But...but...”

He walked slowly around the desk, his sword aimed at Crawley's neck. “What do you know about Cribby Menlow? Who hired him?”

Crawley gulped. “He was hired by the Governor to track down the Crimson Blade. The Governor doesn't like how he's been interfering with his businesses. I think he's delivering marriage papers to two of the Inn's residents, too. That's all I know.”

The Crimson Blade slashed his cravat, cutting it short. He then popped every button off his shirt and vest. “Stay away from the Monongahela Inn and its staff, and tell Cribby Menlow to do likewise, or you'll lose a lot more than a few buttons.”

Crawley reached for a cord, but the Crimson Blade was out the door before he could even ring the bell. It was a few minutes before two servants in footmen's livery met him at the door. “What is it, sir?”

“The Crimson Blade was here! He threatened me and ruined my good cravat! Find him! I want him in jail!” The men darted off. Crawley plopped back in his chair. The Governor isn't gonna like this!

The Basement of the Monongahela Inn, That Night

Hilary groaned. “Scott, you shouldn't have done that. You're lucky you weren't arrested!”

Scott shrugged. “I rattled Crawley and found out that he's got plans for the play, didn't I?”

Jeff nodded. “I just wish you heard exactly what they had in mind. It could be anything!”

Scott sat on a crate. “We'll just have to keep an eye out for anyone who looks like they might be trying to hurt us.” He leaned against the wall. “What a time for Maple to get a cold! We need her help more than ever, especially with Mackie out of town.”

Jeff joined Scott on the crate. “You have us. We'll do what we can. We want to see this play succeed, too. And we don't want you or Maple to get hurt.”

Hilary grinned and sat on the other side of the crate, away from Jeff. “And of course, we want the free publicity. This could put us and the Inn on the map!”

Scott nodded. “I'm gonna need all the support I can get. It's up to us to make sure the show goes on!” His grin spread across his face. “Very exciting!”

The Manager's Office, 2 AM, That Night

The Inn was silent at this time of night. Elizabeth enjoyed the quiet. She was working on revisions for 'When In Rome.' It was just about done. She was looking forward to being able to curl up into bed and relax while the rest of the staff performed the show. Eugenia and Mr. Foley would play the music. It would be the biggest thing the Inn had ever attempted...but she needed rest.

She sighed. Victor had gone to Fort Pitt. Again. The colonies seemed to be closer and closer to being at war with England. It was unthinkable, but that was what they heard from their guests and and the newspapers. Victor's pamphlets and newspaper articles were growing more and more heated. She agreed with him and understood the need to defend their rights to govern themselves, but...what about her? He kept canceling every plan they made together. “This isn't how it's supposed to be!” she said out loud. Victor was supposed to be the one by her side, not....not him. Not Scott. Scott was a scoundrel and a liar who didn't care about anyone.

But he saved your life, and you saved his. He's gone out of his way to be helpful and kind. He just...he lied his way into a job that wasn't his! Who knows what else he's lied about? She tried to concentrate on her work, but her thoughts kept intruding. And what about the Crimson Blade? He certainly seemed interested in you after the ball, and he did save you from Pruitt's wandering hands. What's the story with him...and how did he turn into a she? The woman Crimson Blade looks nothing like the male one.

She never heard the footsteps in the hall. She pillowed her head on her arms, half-asleep. She was so tired, she barely looked up when a figure came into the room. “Victor? Lady Hilary? Scott?”

“Hello, lass.” She shivered as the dark figure stepped into the room. It was the Crimson Blade, just as he appeared the night of the ball. The red shirt stood out, deep and hot in the moonlight. He wore the same dark breeches and high boots and gloves. The concealing hood couldn't hide the longing and sorrow in his brown eyes.

Elizabeth stood, surprised. “What are you doing here? Every officer within a hundred miles of Pittsburgh Village is looking for you! You could get arrested, or killed, or....”

“I'll be all right, lass. I can take care of myself.” He slowly put his arms around her. “It's you I'm worryin' about. You and everyone here. I was at the Weepin' Joker Inn a few days ago. I overheard the owner Crawley plottin' to take control of the Monongahela Inn and sabotage 'When In Rome.'”

Elizabeth was too tired to protest his forward behavior. “Why would he want to do that?”

“He wants the Inn for himself. He'd buy up every idea that the Inn generates, until there's nothin' left for all of you but to be servants for him.” His voice remained a soft, low Irish tenor, but she could hear the rising anger in it. “And it sounds like he's working for the Governor. Pruitt paid for his business. Both he and his crony are in Pruitt's employ.”

“But Pruitt's in jail!”

The Crimson Blade let out a soft growl. “Not for long. He's a rich man, lass, not to mention the head of this colony. He likely has friends in high places who'll arrange for his bail.”

She buried her face into his coarse red shirt. He wrapped his arms around her. She knew the scent of him – sweat, ink, the tang of the riverfront, the harsh soap used to scrub pots and pans in the kitchen. “It's strange. I feel like I've known you for a long, long time...but I've barely seen you. Where have you been?”

“Oh, I had to go away for a while. Let the price on my head die down, so to speak. I had a...friend...who helped me out.”

Elizabeth snorted. “And I'm sure she's a very close friend of yours.”

He chuckled. “Are ye jealous, lass?”

“Me?” Elizabeth looked up at him. “All I want is for you to to trust me, the way you trust your friend.”

He stroked her hair, letting let her burrow into him. “I have to protect ye, lass. I canna be losin' anyone else I care about. There's too many people who know my identity as it is.”

“Please,” she whispered, her eyes already fluttering. “Just...trust me...I can keep a secret...”

“I know you can, lass.” He caught her as she fell unconscious in his arms. “I didn't know I was such dull company, I could put a girl to sleep!”

He easily carried her upstairs to her room. No one saw the man in black and red tenderly lay Elizabeth on her bed and pull the covers over her. Elizabeth barely felt the kiss he gently placed on her lips. “Me poor, tired lass,” he whispered when he finished. “I'll let ye sleep. You've got a busy few days ahead of ye.” He closed the door and made his way towards the servant's quarters.