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.”
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, 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, Miss 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, Miss 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 Adventures of the Crimson Blade
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