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. “I am 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 outlaw 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 with thinning light brown hair in a simple but elegant gray suit. He stopped his horse before Elizabeth. “Miss Roberts?”
She frowned. “Yes? Please tell me you're not a robber, too!”
He shook his head. “Not at all, Miss 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, Miss 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 that 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 local publishers? 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.
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