The Garden of the Monongahela Inn, Later That Night
Elizabeth Roberts sat on the stone bench under the cherry tree, now wearing a simpler brick-red dress. Gulliver's Travels, one of her favorite books, sat next to her. She couldn't sleep, and since it was such a nice night, she decided to get an early start on waiting for the Crimson Blade. She wondered how he could fall for her after only two meetings. There's something about him, she thought. It's like...I know him. His voice...the pocket watch....where have I seen and heard them before?
She was still wondering when she heard something rustling in the bushes behind her. It was a still night. Not a single breeze ruffled the yellowing leaves of the cherry tree. She gulped. She couldn't take any more surprises after her long night. Scott went to deliver the codes, saying he'd let her take care of the Inn while he, Hilary, Jeff, and the others dealt with the police. None of them had returned yet. Gertrude, Mr. Eldridge, Mackie, and Maple were all asleep in the servants' quarters.
“Hello?” She gazed into the bushes. “Is anyone there?” She thought she saw...no, she couldn't have. A long, sad-eyed face, with dark eyes and thinning brown hair. One that should have perished in Boston. “Victor?”
“Hello, Elizabeth.” Victor Comstock finally stepped out from behind the bushes. He looked almost exactly the same, in his simple gray suit with silver trim and tri-corn hat. “I'm home.”
“You...you...” Elizabeth was so surprised, she could barely speak. “You're dead!”
“Yes, but I'm feeling a lot better now.”
Elizabeth could scarcely believe it. “Victor Comstock died in a riot in Boston.”
“That's what the government told you.” He sat on the bench and gestured for her to do the same. “I was merely knocked unconscious during the riot. When I recovered, I had several visits from General George Washington and officials of the American military. They believed I would be the perfect man to spy on the British for them.”
“But you're a civilian innkeeper!”
“And as an innkeeper, I was privy to certain information from military generals and British officials who stayed in our rooms and watched our plays.” He took her hand. “Elizabeth, you cannot reveal to anyone here what I'm telling you tonight. We could both be in grave danger if my position was discovered.”
“I swear I won't.” She leaned into his gentle, safe arms. “What is your position?”
“They want me to write pamphlets and newspaper articles for the British under the pen name of Johnathan Arnold.”
Elizabeth gasped. “But...he's the man who has been writing horrible things about the American colonies, insulting them and all those who think the colonies should be independent!”
He nodded. “Several men have been doing the writing, including me. They want me to do it exclusively now. The British consider me to be an embittered journalist from Boston who has let his sympathies be known to the right people. They think I'm here to finish my affairs.” He sighed. “Maybe I am.”
“You'll still be in Boston,” Elizabeth reminded him. “I know how difficult things have been there. You could be...”
“Killed again?” He held her closer. “It's a risk I'm willing to take. I want all people in this country to have a say in how they govern themselves. The taxes and repression placed by King George and the English nobles who run the colonies is unfair to all.”
Elizabeth held him close. “Can't I tell at least some of the others about you? They were mourning you, too. Especially Scott Sherwood. He took your death so hard.”
Victor narrowed his eyes. “Who's Scott Sherwood? I don't remember anyone by that name.” The two heard insistent rustling in the trees.“I have to meet my contact in a few minutes. Elizabeth...”
That was when they heard more rustling. Victor kissed her as hard as he could. The moment he stepped into the bushes, she passed out on the soft grass.
Victor didn't know one other person saw him that night. Maple Martienne was sneaking through the bushes, carrying a burlap bag overflowing with shiny objects. She was tugging her black cape away from a rose bush when she saw a tall, handsome, slightly balding man in a gray suit dart away and over the fence surrounding the garden. “Oooh lah lah,” she gasped. “He is tres beau! I wonder who he is?” She finally continued on to the basement...but her thoughts were on the handsome fellow in the garden.
Elizabeth came to in another pair of strong, safe arms. These were a lot stronger than Victor's, though...and a lot more red. She looked into the hooded eyes of the Crimson Blade. “'Tis quite a scare you be givin' me, Miss Roberts! I thought I saw you in the arms of another man!”
Elizabeth smiled wanly. “Oh, no. I was just...talking to myself.”
He helped her onto the bench. “I swear it sounded like a man.”
She indicated the book next to her. “I was just reading out loud.” She shouldn't have let him pull her into his arms, but she'd had a long night. She just needed someone to be there. “How could you love me? You don't know me! We have nothing in common.”
“We have more in common than you might want to think, lass.” He stroked her hair. “We both care about the people of this village, and this Inn.”
“Why do you care? You're an outlaw and a thief!” She looked up at his dark eyes. “Who are you? Why do you hide under that hood?”
He ran a gloved hand over her soft, pink cheek. “I canna tell ye, lass.”
“Don't you trust me?”
“Lass, if you were to be harmed by someone like Pruitt or Holstrom, I could never forgive myself.” He gently lifted her chin to his lips. “Elizabeth, I...”
A clanging noise interrupted them. Elizabeth looked up to see Eugenia and Mr. Foley stumbling towards her. Eugenia's bonnet was hanging off her head, and she was sweating like ice on a hot day. Mr. Foley seemed dazed under his makeshift armor. “Oh, hello there, Elizabeth!” Eugenia trilled. “What are you doing out here alone at this time of night?”
“Just reading to myself, Eugenia.” She wasn't surprised to see that the Crimson Blade was gone. I wish he'd linger for more than five minutes!
“We thought we saw a man with you!”
“Oh no! That was...just shadows.”
“Oh.” Eugenia beamed. “Well, that explains everything! Mr. Foley here is going to walk me to my room. We had such a wonderful time at the ball tonight, even if I did lose my necklace. Would you like to come with us, Elizabeth?”
She shook her head. “I think I'll stay out here a little longer.”
“Suit yourself.” Elizabeth chuckled as Mr. Foley lead Eugenia through the back door of the Inn, clanging all the way. She leaned back against the bench and closed her eyes, dreaming of the two most charming, bravest men she'd ever known.
Lady Hilary and Lord Jeffery’s Room, An Hour Later
Lady Hilary, now dressed in her nightclothes, was glaring at her husband as he came in the room. “All right, Jeffrey Singer. Would you please tell me what you and that crafty knave of a Sherwood have been doing out so late at night? And why in the name of The Beggar's Opera did you steal my tiara?”
He handed her a box. “Here's your tiara and your jewels, and my rings, too. I told you we'd get them back. We returned everything we stole from the staff at the Inn.”
“You stole your own things?”
“We had to make it look good.” He sat next to Hilary. “Mittens, I can't tell you all of it, but...you deserve to at least know part of what we're doing.”
Hilary pulled her husband closer to her on the bed. She ran her fingers through his curls. “Tell me what you know, Pumpkin.”
The Adventures of the Crimson Blade
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