Act eight, Making History

As the flames consumed the papers, Ernest leaned back to avoid being singed by the heat. He glanced around the table, seeing Mary Jane's horrified expression and Sir Franklin's smug one. "Did either of you order flambé?" He blithely fished in one pocket and came out with a cigar. "You don't mind if I smoke, do you?" he asked. He lifted one curling page to light his cigar, and then dropped the paper back on the blackening plate.

Ramos came forward calmly and draped a cloth over the plate, effectively smothering the fire but not before there was nothing left but ashes. "A complete loss, I'm afraid. These pages are utterly destroyed."

"That's right," proclaimed Sir Franklin. "And no great loss to the literary world this."

Ernest smiled at Mary Jane. "It's time for your line, my dear," he prompted her gently.

Mary Jane stared at him. How could he be so calm when his new book lay in ashes on a plate before them? Belatedly, she remembered the words that he had made her memorize early that morning. "I-- I will take my leave of you now, Sir Franklin." The words came out hollow and tremulous, but having spoken them her uncertainty was replaced by a wondrous calm. She remembered a phrase that she had once overheard, which she now repeated with relish, "Don't let the swingin' door hit you on your way out!"

Sir Franklin grabbed her arm cruelly. "We have a contract," he hissed, "and as long as that document exists, you belong to me!"

Mary Jane twisted out of his grasp. "Not any more!" she said, defiantly.

"Exactly true," Bartok announced loudly. He was standing directly behind Sir Franklin, and he words startled him. "You see, Sir Franklin, things here aren't really what they appear to be."

"That's right," injected Ernest Pratt. "First of all, you are not Sir Franklin at all. Your name is Cutbert Dambridge-- and Miss Plane is not your niece.

Gutridge scrambled for his scattered wits. "You're a fine one to talk about names, Pratt... masquerading as a western hero... how many people around here know you as Nicodemus Legend?"

"I make no secret that my name is Ernest Pratt," Ernest said mildly.

"Secondly," Bartok interposed, lowering his tray in front of Gutridge. He whisked away the cloth to reveal a weird contraption composed of glass tubes, wires and brass boxes. "This is not dessert I am carrying, but a device I have invented that captures sounds and stores them so that they can be heard again at the listener's will. I call it the Bartok Permanent Echo Chamber. Listen." Bartok manipulated the device and to everyone's surprise, a voice emanated through the room. It was faint and slightly muffled, but it echoed Gutridge's exact words:

'We have a contract... and as long as that document exists, you belong to me!'

"Which brings us to the third point, Sir Franklin," Milton J. Farber said, coming into the room suddenly. He had been lurking out of sight in the kitchen, listening. "You see... that isn't Ernest's book that you just burned." He reached into his carpetbag and drew out a sheaf of papers covered with Ernest's scrawling penmanship. "I took the book from Mr. Pratt's room shortly after I arrived here in Sheridan. After all, my original purpose in coming to Sheridan was to collect his new book."

"I-- but-- you--," Gutridge stuttered, his disbelieving stare jumping from Faber to Pratt to Bartok to Mary Jane. He looked at the plate full of ashes. "What was that, then, that I just burned--?"

Ernest tapped the ashes from his cigar onto the plate. "That would be your now defunct contract with Miss Plane. I'm sure that Mr. Allen will be most interested in the evidence we have gathered. Likely you'll find your assets invested with his publishing company frozen, until such a time as you see fit to sign over to Miss Plane the funds that she has earned while working for you."

"Likely you will indeed," said Farber coldly. "If you don't want your name slandered in every civilized country in the world."

"You wouldn't--!" Gutridge gasped. "If you soil my name, you'll be throwing mud on the reputation of your own publishing company!"

"True. Which is why we will settle with having you reimburse Miss Plane for her time and her contributions before you gracefully retire from the business. The E. C. Allen Publishing Company is bigger than Sir Franklin Gutridge, and the amount of mud that it would take to dirty our name could drown the likes of you!"

Gutridge could find no more words. He gaped at everyone for a few more moments, then closed his mouth and with what dignity he could scrape together, exited the room without looking back.

Faber nodded to Pratt, and then lifted Mary Jane's hand to his lips. "Miss Plane, it's been an honour. I took the liberty of wiring Mr. Allen earlier today, and he asked that I invite you to come to Maine so that he may personally negotiate a new contract with you... to write your own books. He said that he doesn't want to lose a good author like you to any of his competitors."

"But… I thought…" a trace of uncertainty crept into Mary Jane's voice, "Sir Franklin said that Mr. Allen wouldn't publish a book written by a woman."

"I think that you'll find Mr. Allen is much more open-minded than Sir Franklin led you to believe," Ernest said, gesturing widely with his cigar. "There is historical precedence, you know! Mary Shelly, for instance!"

"Some women authors who have encountered prejudice have simply circumvented the problem by publishing under a pen name," Janos added helpfully.

"And what about Jane Austen and Emily Dickenson?" Ramos offered. "I've read their works with great interest. Miss Dickenson is a most compelling poet." When Ernest cocked an eyebrow at him, Ramos added defensively, "What? I studied modern literature and poetry at Harvard for a year."

"I guess you're right, Mr. Pratt," Mary Jane smiled again. "My thanks to you and Professor Bartok and Ramos. And to you, Mr. Faber; I will give Mr. Allen's offer serious consideration."

"Thanks for your help, Milton," Pratt said earnestly, taking Faber by surprise by using his first name without a trace of sarcasm and offering him a handshake.

"I'll give your best to Mr. Allen. I say… I never imagined that I would be participating in a Nicodemus Legend adventure! This has been quite exciting!"

"Well!" announced Bartok jovially, "all's well that ends well!"

Epilogue

They were gathered in the sitting room connected to Mary Jane's suite. Ramos had volunteered to fetch a stimulating beverage for Miss Plane, who seemed to be unable to accept that she was finally free of Gutridge's control.

"What about those horrible men that Sir Franklin-- I mean, Dambridge-- those men he hired to steal your book and the Professor's inventions?" Mary Jane asked. "What will happen to them?"

"Our friend's Wiley and Jenk are already in jail, and if they cooperate with the sheriff and help him catch the other two, they will get some consideration come the time they stand before the judge." Ernest accepted a cup from the tray that Ramos was bringing around and handed it to Mary Jane. "All in all, I doubt that we'll have to worry much about them anymore.

"All that you have to worry about, Miss Plane, is what you're going to do... now that you are your own woman."

Mary Jane smiled, gracefully accepting the beverage. "I've always wanted to write a book about the great independent women in history… but I'm not sure that the world is ready for it."

"You've already sold one copy," Ernest assured her.

Ramos handed Mary Jane a folded paper. "This arrived a while ago. Mr. Faber sends word that he is delighted that you have decided to accept Mr. Allen's offer, and that he has reserved first-class accommodations for you on a train leaving Denver. Your coach departs tomorrow at noon."

"First-class-- for me?" Mary Jane's eyes grew round. "Are you serious?"

"Ramos is always serious," Ernest said. He patted Mary Jane's hand gently. "You'll like E. C. He's seems like a gruff old bear of a man, but underneath that... he is a gruff old bear! But he is a genius of an old bear, and he knows talent when he sees it. He'll take good care of you."

"I wish you the very best, Miss Plane." Bartok came forward and kissed her hand gallantly. "I'm afraid we must take your leave now. There are several experiments going back at the compound, and if I don't get back the whole place is likely to explode!"

"I want to thank you, Professor, for what you've done. Your voice capturing device is a stroke of genius!"

Janos laughed. "Oh! Not at all, my dear lady. That was just ventriloquism-- a parlour trick! I merely threw my voice, echoing Sir Franklin's words. There is no such device that can capture a sound so... not yet anyway!"

"No such device... you mean you were bluffing?" Mary Jane covered her mouth as she started to laugh.

"Yes. Old Gypsy tricks do come in handy sometimes! Good-bye, Miss Plane, and good luck! Coming, Ernest?"

Ernest picked up his hat, rising as if to take his leave as well, but Mary Jane caught his arm. "Wait. I'd like to talk to you, Mr. Pratt."

"Go on ahead, Janos. I'll catch up with you." Ernest smiled at Mary Jane, realizing that he was alone with her in her room. Somehow it didn't seem right, and he nervously walked away to look out of the window. "Would you like something with your coffee, Miss Plane? Cream? Sugar? Bourbon? I could have Skeeter bring something up..."

"There is something I'd like, Ernest," Mary Jane said. She set down her cup and rose, crossing the room until she stood right in front of Ernest. "I'd like to spend some time in your room with you, before the coach leaves to take me back East."

Ernest smiled down at her, shock giving way to pleasure. "I'd like that, too, Miss Plane. But this surprises me; you didn't seem like such an... assertive creature... when I first met you."

"There are historical precedence, Mr. Pratt. Shall I site a few for you?"

"I'd be delighted... " Pratt said, folding her hand in the crook of his arm, "hopefully, both of us will be!"

"Ernest!" Bartok voice echoed up from the street outside. "Ernest, are you coming?"

Ernest walked through the open window, Mary Jane on his arm. Smiling over the edge of the balcony rail, he called out, "Not now, Janos!" He looked at his lady and his eyes were soft and gentle as he added in a low voice, "Miss Plane is going to give me a private lecture on the independence of the modern female." He raised his voice to address his friends again; "I'll see you boys tomorrow.

"And here's another idea," Ernest said, as he escorted Mary Jane back inside. "Let's send our Mr. Faber a note that you will not be needing a ticket for the coach tomorrow."

"But, Ernest… how will I get to Denver in time to catch the train?"

"Have you ever been up in a hot-air balloon, my dear? It's the only way to travel…"

fin!