Reginald Killingsworth

What?! Who's killing who off?! Doesn't everyone know THAT'S MY JOB!?!

Hmm...I suppose a brief outline of us would assist in whom we are up against. Naturally, I wouldn't wish to give away too much...as Striker has already listed my finer qualities... And yes, the theater! By God, Striker...culture! It's the very thing that gives me life!....(that and my mum, of course).

My word...everything sounds wonderful.... And to all of you out there that think we British only eat 'Bangers and Mash' you are greatly mistaken! Tonight, my wife and I are having Ratatouille and a nice glass of red wine.

Quirks?! ME?! I do not have any woman!

Killingsworth looks at his 'cousin'. "Strange how the comman man hasn't a clue on how to deal with love, Tess." He smiles as he take her hand. "Do not fret...I am sure that those who are worthy will give you a chance to shine, my sweet." He looks over at Sterling. "Captain...I do not think she would call her 'equal' stupid. I on the other hand.." He clears his throat.

"Hello Captain Sss-ssterling!" Killingsworth shouts from behind the Captain.

Protégées!

Cloistered away in his dingy keep, Killingsworth sat shackled and beaten. Exhausted from his engagement from the very first encounter with fist and foot, his body betrayed him with ache and pain. His stomach tightened as he tried to take a deep breath and as for his eye, ‘twas swollen and tender. His head pounded lightly and the weight of the shackles were heavy upon him. But the pain he did not stop his retaliation of imprisonment. The shouts from him went unanswered behind the heavy oak door. Once again banging relentlessly upon its’ hard hued surface. He could hear them on the other side, yet their speech was low and soft. With a sigh, Killingsworth sat back down upon the straw covered floor. The reality of the moment was beginning to sink in. What would his employer say if he were to hear of this horrid situation? It was obvious that he knew his outcome; death. But he was not going to give up hope. Not just yet. His name was known throughout the court and in certain circles that power meant more than money. Yet, he needed to try to send word to his employer. Was there no one in this town who would stand for him? No one came to mind. A sudden feeling of dread took over him. ‘Tis my temper that has placed me here.’ He said to himself, then looking up at the stone-cladded roof. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I am not one for kneeling before you Lord to give prayer. But ‘tis this not the time when most men plead themselves to you and ask for mercy?” With a pause and a sly smile he continues with his thought. “Mercy? Ney, I do not ask for such a thing. But I will ask of you a favor in return….”

"Damn!" Killingsworth mubbles under his breath. He turns towards Ransom. "They call you Ransom, do they not?" He says with a smile. "You are..." Looking at her again. "An interesting creature. What casts you here?" And with that, he throws a gold coin upon the bar again. "What shall it be, Ransom? Ale, port? Or Beer?" Killingsworth watches the French Dove take her place next to Captain Sterling, Lady St. Claire and Mistress McKinney. "Damn him." Killingsworth says looking at the group. "Looks like the Captain is the biggest cock here in the hen house, don't you agree?"

Killingsworth turns his eye to the French Mistress who now has left Captain Sterling's arm. Then watches Captain Sterling from the other end of the bar. As she sips her libation, he watches her. For a moment, he observes from a distance. The he walks forward and bows low. "Mademoiselle, you looked troubled by what you ss-ssee and hear this night. There is history here...much history between thess-sse women and Captain Sssterling. Ssshall I offer you a drink, a place by the fire and an hours worth of time to tell you thiss-sss tale?" His eyes meet her's. They are, beyond a doubt, captivative. "You would do me a great honor...if sss-share a drink with me."

Killingsworth just smiles for a moment. "As you wish, Sssir..."

Killingsworth turns to see the Empress lean into the comman room with a scolding look upon her face. "Oh Good God...The Whore-Monger has arrived!" He says with a smile. Oh fair Lady...we have been pining for you...Pining I say!

Killingsworth looks over at Ransom then back at McKinney and Sterling. "Those two are trouble to themsss-sselves. Nothing good could come from the two of them together...you'll ss-sssee."

Jacked Up!

With a wicked smile Killingsworth looks over at Ransom. My head? I have felt worsssse, thank you. And assss-sss for you Captain.... Did the bullet do a bit of damage, eh?

Killingsworth sets eyes about the tavern. "I assss-ssume that all of you don't care for the likes of me, but know thisss. I don't give a flying..." Within seconds Tess St. Claire's hand quickly covers Killingsworth's mouth.

"Sweet Cousin, I shall promise to be on my best behavior this night." Killingsworth looks over at Lilly and Captain Sterling. "Good evening to you both." He turns has looks at Jacky Tar. "For the sake of the Ladies, I shall ignor your pale attempt of an insult and go on with the business at hand. " Again, he pulls a coin from his pocket and places it upon the bar.

I am thinking of traveling to see my Brother-in-law in the states this weekend. He lives in Oak Brook, IL. How far is this Faire from the Chicago Area?

In the darkness, a figure comes forward. Reginald Killingsworth enters the comman room and the crowd grows quiet. He bows low and removes his hat with a flourish. "Good day, My Sweet Lady St. Claire. It is a wonderous pleasure to see you again. I hope that these...gentle people are not harassing you in any way." He lifts a coin from his pocket and tosses it upon the bar. "Port, thank you."

When he did not find the handkerchief, he panicked, at first. His mind raced, wondering where he could have left it...still in his room? with the bloodied clothes that he had already dealt with? Lost? He sniffed. It did not matter...RK could be the initials of so many others and with Darnely to back him who would be able to pull him down? His panic returned with his last thought. Darnely himself would do the honors of cutting the legs out from beneath him, himself, if he did not soon find the McKinney woman. He had begun to grow concerned at first, but his suspicions had proven correct and she was indeed in Jamaica....he only had to draw her out, lay hold of her and cart her home. Perhaps his return journey would prove.... entertaining he thought to himself... let her try and prove he had done her any harm.... He had pondered what bait to use to bring her into the open and it had not been until her lover had so conveniently showed himself in the pub Killingsworth had made himself scarce in last evening. He had not been recognized by the captain, in fact, Sterling had been in no condition to recognize anyone. All too easy, Killingsworth mused. He had simply followed the man and the younger fellow who had attached himself to the Archangel's captain. Neither had been the wiser. Fools! Idiots! All too easy. And here was the man, a prime target, except for the young boy he had just lifted up behind the saddle. Oh well Killingsworth thought, things don't always go as planned. He raised his pistol, already cocked and ready and took aim. All too easy, he would explain, he had just killed the man who had murdered the well beloved Molly.... and Darnely would protect him, would back him, would turn him into a hero, especially when the news reached McKinney's ears and she came out to see the foul act that had been committed. All too easy and he pulled the trigger. The pistol barked loudly but was still almost lost in the din. The crowd around hardly taking any notice until the small boy pitched forward. Grazed by the ball, Jason fell from the horse. Oh well Killingsworth thought, but then no one asked him to be in the way. He took no further notice of the boy but lowered his pistol and watched the figure in black. At first the victim lurched forward in the saddle, but muscles well trained in the art of riding, automatically forced the figure to regain his proper seat. Killingsworth smiled to himself as the man in black stiffened suddenly and turned his head to look to the man on the bay. Killingsworth always thrilled to see that same old expression of disbelief on his marks' faces. It was all too priceless a moment to him then when Sterling turned once more and looked at the lady in the carriage before he toppled from his mount. It was interesting to Killingsworth to note how the figure in black, due to the mass of bodies surrounding the carriage seemed to float upon the heads and shoulders of those on foot. It was several seconds before Sterling actually came to rest upon the earth. Dropping the pistol in the crowd, Killingsworth pressed forward for a better look as people finally began to understand what had happened. He made his way close enough and saw the man, his face white save for the bright red trickle that began to run from his nose and the corner of his mouth. The man on the bay had dismounted and finally with a scream from inside the carriage, chaos had erupted. Today would be a good day after all....

In a sobering walk down towards the other side of town, a crowd gathered to give respect to the murdered barmaid. Killingsworth walked slowly, immersing himself within the wide of human bodies moving towards the gates. He slowly moved in a mourner’s pace. What drew him there? Was it the act of morbid curiosity that got the better of him? The crowd’s murmurs and whispers filled his ears. His eyes darted back and forth as he searched the crowd for the tall foreign man, her lover. Yet, he did not see him, there within the crowd. Death held a special power over him. He did not fear it. He controlled it. He felt himself make a fits with his right hand. The warmth of the blood turned his palm hot. A woman with a small boy passed him just then as they made their way into the crowd. It was an image that struck a cord at the moment. The smell of damp rotting wool made his tense. There in his mind’s eye he can only see the image of his mother, bleeding to death from being raped by the rebel soldiers. The image shook him hard. His breathing became short and his heart held fast into his throat. He could feel the sweat gather upon his brow. It was then he reached for his handkerchief. As he fumbled in his vest pocket he suddenly realized it was gone.

Killingsworth made great efforts to hide after the death of the bar maid. He knew that the authorities would make they’re way to the inn and start asking everyone who lodged there questions. And these were questions that he did not wish to answer. “Why?” He muttered to himself as he sipped on his bottle of port outside one of the seedy tankard bars near the harbor. The bar maid had pushed him too far and his temper got the best of him. He closed his eyes again. The image of the bar maid now was replaced by the smiling face of Lilly McKinney. She was a rare creature he thought to himself. Robert Darnly had surely invested wisely in this one. She captured London’s heart as well as those who courted her. He remembered his first meeting with her. She was elegant, charming, and somewhat condescending when he made the mistake of trying to speak too quickly. The moment skipped over and over in his mind. It was a sour image. Lilly’s face now reeled back in mocking laughter. “Fool!” She shouted at him and the laughter continued. His eyes flashed open and in a bout of heated anger he threw the bottle of port to the ground. The small crowd which gathered in the bar just looked at him briefly with curious eyes, then continued with their own affairs. Killingsworth was not worried that he would be recognized, at least, not a right away. Left behind in his room at the inn were his frock coat, best wig, and his walking stick. He was now dressed as a misguided middlin. No coat, just a short coat from a second hand shop down the street from the inn. He wore no wig, his hair grown about 2 inches since he had his hair shaved and his clean face now covered in two days worth of stubble. He had hit bottom. He knew that he had to start looking for Mistress Lilly but where? It was then a young man approached him with another bottle of wine. “Here’s another if you wish it. But be so kind as to not brake them…we can always reuse them, mate!” The young boy placed the bottle on the table. Killingsworth looked up and smiled. “Thank you.” Was all he could mutter. In the low mulling of the crowd Killingsworth heard several men in conversation. “And it looks like we are stuck here until Captain Sterling says otherwise…” Killingsworth’s head wrenched about towards the men at the other side of the bar. “Pray you…do tell…” said Killingsworth. “Did you ssss-ssay Captain Ss-ss-sterling?” The men looked at each other for a moment. “Yes, of course. We be part of his crew, aboard the Archangel. We await his command after our ship be fitted.” Killingsworth could feel his heart pound with excitement. “Where can I find the good Captain?”

Squire Robert Darnly White Hall London England Sir, In light of a poor start, I have been made aware of the position of your Mistress Lilly McKinney. She is indeed here in Port Royal, yet she does not make herself known. Mistress Lilly seems to be reluctant to acknowledge her arrival with her adoring public or with the local theater. And has, to the best of my knowledge, taken an alias to conceal herself from the locals inhabitants of this city. I do not think she would draw attention to herself at this point in time, nor do I feel she has a permanent abode. Yet, I am sure that it would not be difficult to locate her. Come tomorrow, I plan to investigate and search out other local Inns in the area. Rest assure, Sir that I will find her and bring her back to you. There is rumor that Captain John H. Sterling, Master and Commander of the Archangel is here in port. If this rumor is true, I will surely find her in his company. May I remind you, that upon our conversation prior to my departure you made it clear to me that I would do whatever I could within my power to secure your mistress. I do hope that you understand I take my work very seriously, and in knowing this I am sure that you are aware of the consequences of such a profession as mine. With this being said, Sir I will forward you another letter when the job is completed. I do expect full payment upon my arrival. Your Humble Servant, Reginald Killingsworth P.S. Best keep the Mistress’ child close for barter.

Dear Lady, What a pleasure it is to see such wonderful items! But I must post a question to you in regard to 'custom' items. What would you say Frock Coat would cost made by hand...not machine? Oh, and if I were to find a good quality wool (Ox Blood would be the colour I fancy), would you knock off a bit for the cost? Eagerly waiting with baited breath!

Time had stopped for him. Killingsworth shut the door to his room quickly and drew a deep breath. He could feel his heart in his throat and head. Then for a moment, he closed his eyes, savoring the last moments of Molly’s life. The image of her drawing her last breath as she pulled at his coat fixed in his mind. When he opened his eyes he looked at himself in the looking glass. There upon his coat were the stained red hands of Molly Shea. He looked down at his hands. Those too, were drenched red and his shirt stained with her crimson liquid. Yet, the moment played back like a skip in time. It seduced him and his mind. The luxury of the moment and the freedom to indulge in his blood-sport placed him on a euphoric high. With his mind wheeling, he quickly raced to his wash basin and washed his hands and face. The image of him in his mirror made him shuttered. “Let them think the worse.” He thought. “There be many a man, woman and child that have met ill-fate here in Port Royal.” He stripped off his coat and shirt. “This town is a melting pot of thieves, harlots, cut-throats and the like. Why should the lost of one whore make anyone take notice.” Killingsworth collected his blood stained items and placed them in a pillow sack. He would burn them later tonight whilst the rest of the house slept. But for now, he took the sack and stored it high in the rafters of his room, hoping that no one would suspect him. Besides, a man of breeding and station would never commit such an awful crime murder…would he?