The Fou Del Rouge Theater, Pittsburgh Village, the Next Day
No one noticed Scott ducking into the alleyway behind the slightly dilapidated theater. The Fou Del Rouge was a French venue noted mainly for its European dancers' scanty costumes. His second-in-command worked here, but he'd wanted them to be closer to their headquarters. Now was the perfect opportunity.
He knocked on the back door. “Maple? Are you there?”
A head poked out. “Scott?” The woman was shapely and well-formed, the hair a flaming red-gold. Her lips parted in an enormous, warm smile. She wore a tight, frilly dancing costume that left little to the imagination. “What are you doing in this head of the woods? I thought you said you had a new piece of work.” Her voice was a contralto in a bad French accent.
“Shh!” He nodded. “I found the perfect spot for our headquarters. We can't keep hidin' stuff in the woods. The Governor will figure it out sooner or later. I met a man in Boston who was managing an inn here in Pittsburgh. The guy died, and I stayed around.” His eyes got a little dreamier. “That girl...the one we met on the road to here a few months ago...she needed me. Elizabeth needed me. She's so smart...and beautiful...and brave...”
Maple raised an eyebrow. “You sound as if you are in amour with her.”
“I've got more important things on my mind than love.” He looked around. “I'll tell you this fast. There's a job open at the inn. The original maid left, and they need a replacement. You have experience. You were a maid in France.”
Maple shrugged. “This is true. Besides, it is much more good than pushing the hommes away from my costume. I tire of only being looked at. I want to be a femme who has respect.”
“Sure.” He handed her a piece of paper. “This is the address.” His eyes widened as they heard voices outside the alley. “I'd better go. I'll see you later.” He ducked out. Maple went back in the theater, her big brown eyes shining.
The Monongahela Inn, Later That Day
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at the paper the tall, attractive red-head handed her. Jeff, Mr. Foley, and Mackie sat on the couch behind her, admiring the comely woman whose tight flowered gown and fancy feathered hat showed off every single one of her considerable curves. The satin heeled shoes she wore showed gave her even more stature.“You've had some very, um, interesting jobs, Miss Martienne.”
“Merci, mademoiselle!” She gave her an enormous, toothy grin. “I have had checkered career, non?”
“Um, yes.” She handed her the paper. “How are you with basic cleaning? Dusting, sweeping, mopping, making the bed....”
Maple nodded. “Let us say I know much about beds, making them and unmaking them.”
Jeff, Mackie, and Mr. Foley were grinning ear to ear now.
Betty blushed, but she said, “Well, you have the job. You're the closest candidate to being qualified we've talked to all day. You'll have the servant's quarters in the rooms in the back with our housekeeper Gertrude, Mackie Bloom our valet, and Mr. Eldridge, our...well, you'll be out in the back. It has a lovely view of the garden.”
“Oh, merci!” She beamed. “I am so glad I am able to work here!” She shook Elizabeth's hand. “It will be new experience.”
All three men surrounded her the moment she started towards the garden. Mackie grabbed her one traveling bag. “Let me help you with that.”
Jeff took her cloak. “I'll hang that in the hall linen press.”
“You forget Jeff, you're married.” Mackie started to take her arm, but Mr. Foley got there first.
Maple smiled flirtatiously. “Why, merci, Monsieur! You are, how you say it, very gentlemanly.” Foley gave them a small smirk over his shoulder as he escorted her to the garden.
Basement of the Monongahela Inn, Midnight
Dark shadows fell across the gardens of the Monongahela Inn. They almost served to hide the figure in the stifling cloak that darted across the silvery-green grass. It ducked into the wooden door with iron hinges that lead under the building.
The basement was musty and damp. Shelves of preserves, crates of food and supplies, old costumes and scenery from the plays, and tools on the walls gave off odd shadows. A familiar figure in a dark cloak leaned on a crate in one corner. “Hi, Mapes,” it whispered. “Have a hard time getting away?”
“Non, Scott.” Maple pulled off the hood, revealing her glittering brown eyes and bright red hair. “Mackie went out with the maid who brings milk, and Gertrude and Monsieur Eldridge are asleep.” She looked around. “Do you think it is safe to talk? We are not alone. There are others upstairs.”
“Nahh, they're all out. I checked. Well, except for their Lady and Lordship, but,” he smirked knowingly, “they're otherwise occupied.”
Another, smaller figure joined them. This one also wore a dark cloak, but he was definitely male, with lighter hair and a cleft in his chin. “I got your message,” C.J, the Inn's messenger boy, admitted. “Lester wanted to be here, but he said he was busy with work. He's probably working on a woman.”
“That is Lester for you.” Maple sat next to Scott. “So, what is next business you are planning to remove money from?”
“Flowergrams Gardens, just outside Fort Pitt. Beautiful estate with a thriving flower shop...and a wealthy one. I was also thinking we could stop a couple of the Pennsylvania Colony Coaches that run from here to Philadelphia and rip off some of the richer clientele.” He grinned at Maple. “How are you with flowers?”
“I do not sneeze around them, if that is what you mean. I could dress as flower seller or fancy lady who buy flowers for home.” She waved her hand upstairs. “I will have to fit it in between chores here. I did not know that being maid required so many things of a girl.” She smiled. “I think I will like it, though. It will be nice to do honest work between jobs.”
“It is kind of nice, isn't it?” He frowned. “No one else at the inn can know what we're doing. I don't want them involved.” He turned to them. “The money...I have a new plan for it.”
They both looked surprised. “A new plan?” Maple raised her eyebrows. “You're not...”
He put a hand over Maple's mouth. “No, I'm not. The money we make and that I've...borrowed...from here will be going to the causes that Victor Comstock fought for.” He pulled away from her. The moonlight fell on his broad back. “I've heard the residents' stories. Victor Comstock wanted all Americans to be free. He believed the English are really giving us a raw deal. He died for that cause.” He turned back, his face grave. “I was in the French and Indian War. I know what the English are capable of. They've already killed Comstock. The staff deserves better than being taxed off their land and treated like dirt by people like Governor Pruitt.”
Suddenly, a sliver of light shown from above Scott. “That was a pretty speech, Mr. Sherwood.” Lord Jeffrey Singer stood in the doorway. “A pity I doubt you really mean it.”
Scott turned to the door in surprise. “What are you doing here? How did you...”
Jeff leaned in the doorway. His breeches had been hastily thrown on. He held a coverlet around his shoulders. “Hilary and I had just finished our...administrations when I heard someone walking downstairs. I followed you here.”
Scott stepped closer to Maple and C.J. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough to know you're planning something important.” He came downstairs. “You're stealing from local businesses. You're nothing but common thieves!”
“Shhh!” Scott shook his head. “Not that common, Your Lordship.” He frowned. “What we tell you here has to be kept secret. You can't tell anyone what we're doing. Not the staff, and especially not Hilary.”
Jeff just looked confused. “All right. I swear, I won't tell a soul. But what...”
Scott's familiar roguish grin spread across his face. “Aye lad,” he said, his Irish accent thickening until it was practically a stew, “I dare say you know who we are. Have you ever heard of The Crimson Blade?”
Jeff nodded. “What does he have to do with this?” He looked upstairs. “And what about
Elizabeth? She's a clever girl. She'll figure out what you're doing.”
Scott smirked. “Just leave her to me, Jeff. Piece of cake!”
The Manager's Office, the Next Morning
Elizabeth Roberts groaned. “I don't believe you!”
Scott chuckled. “Well, that's probably a good policy.” He sat on the top of the desk in his office. “Liz, Victor Comstock literally gave his life to make these colonies great. Those big, big businesses out there won't notice a little bit missing. We'll donate the money we get from the Flowergrams Gardens and Pennsylvania Colony Coaches to the American causes here and in Boston that he spoke for.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Well, as long as something useful will come out of it. We'll still promote the Gardens and the Coaches here, of course. We have small weddings in the garden occasionally. I just...Scott, I don't like this. We really should return the money...”
“Lass, that's something we can not do. How would we explain it?”
Elizabeth sighed. “All right. It's for the good of the Inn.” She looked down at the books. “And for Victor.”
Scott looked into her eyes. “You miss him, don't you?”
“Well, yes. He was a good manager and a good man. He had so many ideas for keeping the Inn going. When he left, I thought my heart left, too.”
Scott looked hopeful. “And now?”
Elizabeth could only smile a little bit. “We'll see, Scott.” It was enough to make Scott's heart leap.
Someday, he thought wistfully to himself, I'll tell her who I really am. For now...all I can do is show that I love her.
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