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 and stretched her cramped limbs. “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?”
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 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 front desk. 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, Miss 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.
The Adventures of the Crimson Blade
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