The Porch, 7 AM, The Next Morning
Clifton Abernathy did not like dealing with pirates. Or any kind of criminals. He preferred getting his job done. “Look, Captain DeVile, all I know is, he's sleeping at the Inn. He has the papers. He'll deliver them to their Lord and Ladyship as soon as he can.”
“How soon will that be?”
“As soon as possible. It's still early.” He nodded at the dirty, mangy thugs behind her. “Couldn't you have told them to wash up and look slightly presentable?”
Pavla smirked and played with his cravat. “Now, how can they frighten audience away if they do not look frightening?”
“They don't look frightening. They look like they rolled in the nearest manure pile.”
A few snarled behind them. “Aw, now you go and hurt their feelings.” She patted his cravat in place. “How, why don't you go do job and make sure cast sleeps? When Cribby is awake, he will deliver the papers...and we will deliver Crimson Blades to our good friend the Governor.”
“They don't have any feelings!” He pushed her hand off his chest. “I'm doing my job. All I want is for my employer to get the Inn. He promised me the new manager job for the Monongahela after we oust Comstock and the rest of the staff. Now, you start doing yours.” He stomped so hard into the lobby, the wooden porch bounced.
The pirates met two men at the door. “What are you guys doin'?”
One of the men frowned. “We're goin' to see the show.”
“No, ye ain't, boy.” They shoved them off the porch. “Get lost. Ain't no one comin' here.”
Pavla nodded. “Very good. Do that for anyone who tries to get in. I'm going to get cheese and wine at the tavern down the street. When I come back, we will find Cribby.” She smirked. “And perhaps, find Crimson Blades, too.”
The Servants' Quarters, 11 AM
“Madame Gertrude, I am feeling better,” Maple protested as Gertrude brought her a bowl on a tray. “I do not need le chicken soup. I have had so much chicken soup, I feel like I have feathers!” She sneezed miserably into a pink flowered handkerchief. “Why must I get sick now?” She sighed and leaned back in her bed. “How is show going?”
“Not well.” Maple leaned forward and let Gertrude fluff her pillow. “Everyone but Elizabeth is ready to keel over.” Gertrude frowned and pulled her cloak around her shoulders. “I'm going over there right now. I've thought those two people from the Daily Gazette were up to no good. I want to take a look at that tea they've been giving the staff.”
“I'm going with you.” Maple was already getting out of bed. She went to the linen press to find a gown that was somewhat more presentable than her nightdress. “And don't say I am sick! I don't care. These are mon amies, and they have worked hard on this play.” She finally grabbed a simple pale green-striped work dress and pulled it over her shoulders, then grabbed her red wool cloak. She didn't even bother with her stays. She just wanted to make sure the cast wasn't in trouble. “Let us go.”
The Porch, 12 PM
Victor Comstock knew there was something reprehensible going on the moment he saw the ruffians assaulting people at the entrance. He had ridden home from Fort Pitt that morning, only to see paying customers being turned away from the Inn. Maple Martienne stumbled next to him.
“Bonjour, Monsieur.” She blushed, trying to straighten her hair. “Is good to see you. When did you arrive at home?”
“Just this second.” He saw her pale face and heard the sneeze that rattled several bushes. “I thought you were running a fever.”
“I thought you were running hotel.”
He nodded at the pirates at the door. “Contemptible lot. Where did they come from?”
“I do not know.” She made a face. “But I can make crazy guess. I recognize them from the raid on marketplace at Noel. They are Pavla DeVile's men.”
“She's here?” His eyes looked concerned. “We'll need to inform the others. The last time she came anywhere near any of the residents or staff of this Inn, she forced Jeff into an unwanted union and had me placed under hypnosis. No telling what depraved acts she has in mind for our comrades.”
She took his arm. She really liked the feel of his arm. It was surprisingly strong and sinewy under his heavy shirt. “We will use basement entrance. It is not guarded. I already sent Madame Gertrude et Monsieur Eldridge that way.” She lead him through the alley and back to the garden.
The Main Room, 12:05 AM
Victor Comstock couldn't believe his eyes. The stage was sheer, unapologetic madness. Elizabeth stood in the center, reciting all the Shakespearean sonnets she could remember. Gertrude was walking around with Lord Singer, who for some reason, wore his ex-wife's favorite lavender gown. Lady Booth leaned against a wooden window in trousers and a loose white blouse, muttering about her ex-husband flirting with older women. Mr. Foley was pouring buckets of water on himself. Eugenia was doing jumping jacks. Scott Sherwood sat on the floor, staring at his silver pocket watch.
Victor went straight to Eugenia. “Dear God! What is going on here, Miss Bremer?”
“We're doing everything we can to stay awake!”
“So I see.” There were only two audience members, a man with a rather weasel-like face and a larger fellow with a heavy gray mustache and thick gray hair. He turned to them. “May I ask you gentlemen how this occurred? I know sleep deprivation can do unusual things to its victims, but they shouldn't be this depraved!”
Cribby Menlow yawned. “Don't look at me, pal. I'm just the guy waitin' for them to get offstage. I only just got up myself.”
Abernathy just stared at Victor. “I have no idea.” He stood. “Would you excuse me, please.”
Victor watched him leave, then climbed onstage. He went to Hilary next. “Your Ladyship, are you quite yourself?”
“Not sure. Could be me. Maybe Jeff.”
Victor frowned. “I think you should lie down, Your Ladyship. You appear to be ready to collapse.”
“I'll do that. Night-night, Vic!” She fell to the floor, too tired to do anything but sleep where she was.
Victor turned to Gertrude and Lord Singer next. “How much tea did they have to drink?”
Gertrude frowned. “They've barely drank anything else but tea in the last two days!” Lord Jeffrey was reciting every play he'd ever been involved with in Gertrude's ear.
Elizabeth had already turned to Hilary and was trying to awaken her. “No, Hilary, please! We only need to stay onstage five minutes more!”
Scott yawned. “You said that ten minutes ago.” He stared at his watch again, then held it out to Victor. “Vic, what does this say?”
“I assume you can read a watch. You're always pulling it out of your pocket. It says 12:15.”
Scott finally managed to get to his feet. He pointed to the clock that always hung near the stage in the main room. “Then that clock is wrong. Someone stopped it.”
Victor took the clock off the wall. “They removed the mechanisms, probably during one of your intermissions.” He went onstage. “Ladies and gentlemen...uh, gentleman. The Monongahela Inn and Theater has just broken the record for a dramatic performance.”
Cribby stood up, stretching. “Great, skinny. I just need to talk to Lady Hilary Booth and Lord Jeffrey Singer.” He shook his head as Jeff finally sagged in Gertrude's arms, out cold. “Maybe I should wait for a better time. Like when they're awake.” Eugenia and Mr. Foley were already asleep on the couch on the set, Mr. Foley's head pillowed in Eugenia's lap.
Victor nodded. “Yes, I'd recommend you do that. They'll need at least eight hours of sleep or more after the past few days of non-stop performance.”
Elizabeth turned to Scott, the only other actor onstage who hadn't passed out. “Are you all right?”
“No,” Scott admitted, his Irish accent slurring badly. “I have somethin' I need to be dealin' with.” He stumbled off the stage, quickly shoving the watch into his pocket on his way.
Cribby watched him leave. “Who is that guy? I know I've seen him before.”
“I've asked that same question for weeks.” Victor frowned. “Sherwood is a fine worker and a decent actor, but I believe he isn't telling us the whole truth about his identity or his activities outside of the Inn. There's more to that Irishman than meets the eye.”
Gertrude and Mr. Eldridge made their way over to Victor with a large earthenware jar, dodging the sleeping bodies on the stage. “Mr. Comstock, I really think you should see this.”
The Green Parlor Room, That Same Moment
Maple Martienne didn't like the look of that Abernathy man. There was something self-centered and almost smug about him. He's up to no good. I'm sure of it!
Her suspicions were confirmed when she walked into the parlor room and saw Abernathy and a fat, beady-eyed woman pouring something from a glass bottle into a teapot. She ignored the big sneeze coming on and darted over to them. “Oh no, you do not! I do not think you should do that!”
Victor Comstock entered just in time to see Maple yank the bottle away from Abernathy's grasp. “Look at what I have found! They put some of this into tea! I am certain it is drug for sleeping.”
She handed Victor the bottle. He turned his piercing mahogany glare to Abernathy. “It's Valerian. An herbal sedative that aids insomniacs and other people who can't sleep in getting some relaxation.”
Gertrude waved the jar. “I found this in the hall clothes press. It's a fruit tea...an herbal tea.”
Mr. Eldridge pointed at Miss Brumpton angrily. “She told me it was a flower tea!”
“No, herbal,” Victor explained. “Herbal tea is good for soothing your nerves, but it has nothing in it to keep you awake.”
The door flung open as Gertrude and Mr. Eldridge were gasping. The Crimson Blade, in full regalia from his black hood to his bright red shirt to his high leather boots, stumbled into the room. He held up his sword, but his gloved hand trembled. A none-too-happy Elizabeth followed him.
“This man is a liar and a cheat.” He lifted the sword as close to Abernathy as he could. “He's workin' for Crawley at the Weepin' Joker Inn. He's their manager. This be the man I overheard talkin' to him the other day. Aye, I thought I recognized ye. He, Crawley, and their business partner wanted to sabotage the play. Crawley wants the record to remain his. He's after the Inn, and all the ideas we...ye have generated for it. He ordered the posters taken down. The more people hear about our little hotel, the less they go elsewhere...including to the Weeping Joker.”
Victor's eyes narrowed further. “I wouldn't be surprised to learn that the miscreants at the front door were your idea as well, Abernathy.”
Elizabeth looked worried. “What miscreants?”
“He's got some dirty thugs standing guard at the door, keeping paying customers out.” Maple sneezed. “That's why you had an audience of deux this morning.”
“They aren't my miscreants! They were my employer's suggestion!”
Brumpton glared at him. “I didn't know anything about this. I've been in here for most of the last few days.”
Victor blocked Abernathy at the door. “I already sent Lester to bring the police. Thankfully, the miscreants seem to have fled. I suppose they felt their presence wasn't required once the show reached its conclusion.”
Maple grabbed Brumpton's fleshy arm. “Don't think you go anywhere, soeur.”
The Crimson Blade's tired brown eyes blazed. He finally dropped his sword and went right into Abernathy's face, holding up a black-gloved fist. “Abernathy, I'll be tearin' ye limb from limb, ye two-timin', stiff-necked swine!” Elizabeth saw him sway and caught him just in time. He leaned on her arm. “Just as soon as I be finishin' me nap.”
Maple saw The Crimson Blade fall the floor next to his sword. She hurried to help Elizabeth get him onto the couch. “I wonder what's gotten into him?” Elizabeth fretted.
“They must have drugged him somehow, or he partook of the same tea as the staff and cast.” Victor was leading Abernathy out the door. “Elizabeth, tend to the Crimson Blade. Make sure he's unharmed. I'm sure there's a plethora of policemen who will want to learn more about how he discovered this knowledge.”
Maple gulped. She wanted to help her friend, but she didn't want to give herself away. Someone had to take over their work. “You take care of him, Elizabeth. He is bon homme. He is not bad, as some people say. He has his reasons for doing what he do.”
Elizabeth saw the real concern and fear in Maple's brown eyes. “I will, Maple. I promise.”
The moment she was alone with him, she couldn't resist. “I'm sorry,” she told the sleeping man as she sat down on the couch alongside him. “I have to know. I already kind of do know. Maybe I've known for a long time, but didn't want to admit it.”
She slowly tugged the hood away from his head. Somehow, she wasn't surprised to find the familiar face of Scott Sherwood underneath, his breathing heavy and his thick dark hair in disarray. “Oh Scott,” she murmured, cradling him in her arms, “why? Why did you do this? Why did you risk so much?”
His blood-shot eyes opened briefly. “Didn't want to lose you...not like them...not like home...”
She held his head close to her. “Shh, Scott. It's the sleep deprivation talking. You need rest.”
His eyes were already closing, his voice lost in a fog of sleep. “Love...love you...”
She smiled a little. “I love you too, Scott Sherwood.” But his head had already dropped onto her breast. He snored lightly. She leaned over him and gave him a little kiss on the forehead. She couldn't help it. He looked so gentle and helpless sleeping there, like a little lost boy playing bandits and Indians.
She finally let him go, stretching and yawning. She needed to help Victor with Abernathy and the police, and then some real rest in her own bed upstairs. For now, she'd get something besides tea to drink, then see if she could get Scott out of that outfit, or at least hide the hood, sword, and red shirt. They were a little too obvious. Elizabeth thought she heard footsteps down the hall, but she assumed it was Victor and Maple. If she'd turned around even a little at that moment, she would have seen someone very different...and very unwelcome.
“That's him.” Cribby Menlow lead the woman in the colorful, tight-fitting suit and several of the “miscreants” who had been at the door into the parlor. “That's the guy Governor Pruitt paid me to find for him. He's been lookin' for this jerk for years.”
Pavla yanked Scott by his hair. He winced, barely conscious.“This is Herr Crimson Blade, all right.” She held up the hood. “This is what he use to hide himself.” She yanked his head harder, throwing the hood on the floor. “No more. He is ours now.”
“Hey,” Scott croaked. “what...who...” His hazy eyes drifted toward Cribby. “Menlow...Pavla?”
“Oh yeah.” Cribby smirked. “I'm gonna get a pretty penny for this guy. There's a price on his head that would pay for the Ursula Gothel three times over.”
Pavla laughed as they bound Scott hand and foot with heavy rope. “So this is the indestructible Crimson Blade! A mere kitchen worker. How...amusing.” Pavla roughly wound a linen napkin from the tea table in his mouth. Two of the men threw what looked like burlap bags over him. “Shall we take our prize to my ship? Someone will be arriving who would very much like to have a little chat with him.”
Elizabeth saw the retreating backs go down the hall, but she assumed they were guests. “Scott?” She entered the parlor...only to see Scott wasn't there. She picked up his hood. “Scott?” Scott wasn't anywhere in the parlor. He wasn't in the manager's office either, or the kitchen.
She met Victor and Maple coming from the lobby as she hurried down the hall. “Have either of you seen Scott?”
Maple looked worried. “He is missing?”
Elizabeth nodded. “He was sleeping in...well, he was sleeping, but now he's not there. He was so tired. I don't know where he could have gotten to. I don't think he'd make it to the servants' quarters.”
Victor frowned. “We'll help you search for him. He's in no condition to be wandering around.”
Victor went on ahead. Maple stopped Elizabeth. She indicated the black fabric clutched in her right hand. “How did you get that? That is the hood of the Crimson Blade!”
Elizabeth looked around her. Seeing that Victor was already in the lobby and the hall was empty, she whispered “Maple, I know Scott is the Crimson Blade. It all makes sense. He saved me at the ball. No wonder he knew about the codes. He was the one who broke them. He came to me later that night in the garden. He may even have wanted to tell me his identity then, but Eugenia and Foley walked in.” She put her hand on Maple's arm. “You took over after that, didn't you?”
She just barely nodded. “Oui. I have been member of his organization for long time. When the price on his head got high and Pruitt was breathing up our necks, he told me he would let me play role while the heat fell down.” She looked right at Elizabeth. “I think what he really wanted to do was try to get back into your heart. That is what he cared about. He cared about you.”
“I don't know what to think.” She rubbed her head. “Let's find him first. Maybe we'll finally get some answers.”
The Main Room, A Few Minutes Later
Eugenia Bremer was having a lovely dream. She was dreaming that she was playing the lightest, fluffiest pianoforte with Mr. Foley by her side. Someday, she really needed to find out what his first name was...
Mr. Foley's eyes fluttered open briefly as loud voices could be heard in the lobby. “We have to get him to the ship, before Comstock and his little writer find out he is gone.”
“Pavla, I don't like this. You don't want His Lordship. Why rake him over the coals?”
“He can get me what I want. I want to be on the stage, with money of my own and adulation that doesn't come from skewering a man. I want to do more than act my way out of trouble with the authorities.”
“You could do a lot more than act with me, baby.”
“I'll consider it.” Eugenia didn't hear what else they said, and she didn't care. Her dream was coming back...and Mr. Foley was just about to say the sweetest things to her, even if she couldn't hear them over the pianoforte...
The First Floor Hallway, An Hour Later
Victor arrived as Maple and Elizabeth were. “Any luck finding Sherwood?”
Elizabeth shook her head sadly. “None. He's nowhere in the main building.”
“I could check the Servants' Quarters. Perhaps he make it there after all.” Maple sneezed. “I need to get back, anyway, or I will end up on floor with the rest of the staff.”
“I'll take you back.” Elizabeth still felt a twinge of jealousy as Victor walked Maple to the back door. “Elizabeth, you check the carriage house. I doubt he went any further than that, unless he was carried.”
“Right.” Elizabeth watched them walk off together. She still was still very fond of Victor...but she wasn't sure if what she felt was love anymore, or simply admiration. Victor never seemed to make room for her in his schedule. Scott had literally saved her life several times. Scott...
Scott could be in trouble, Elizabeth reminded herself. She hurried to get her cloak.
The Adventures of the Crimson Blade
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