CHAPTER FOURTEEN: A Sea of Unfamiliar Faces
by Nicky
PART TWO: The Past
“Collinwood is suspended now between the past and the present,
because one woman has inexplicably begun a terrifying and dangerous
journey into the past ... back to a foreign century, where she will
uncover the darkest secrets the Collins family holds ... and, perhaps,
the key to saving one man’s bleak existence ... and the future of the
woman he loves ... ” (Voiceover by Kathryn Leigh Scott)
1
Julia was in the void again, somewhere in a vast swirl of icy currents,
with blackness pressing in on her from all around. I don’t remember,
she thought, everything is broken ... I can’t feel anything ... where am
I? She could hear an inhuman wailing noise all around her, a sighing as
though a cacophony of spirits sang nameless, wordless hymns to
some being that surrounded and enveloped them all. I must be dead,
Julia thought deliriously; am I being punished for some transgression?
Is this hell or only purgatory?
“No, André, I don’t think it wise for Josette to leave the house
today.” A woman’s voice, and so familiar, and suddenly Julia realized
why without even seeing the speaker. She sounds exactly like me,
Julia thought, amazed. What in the hell is going on? “Jeremiah has
been dead for two weeks, and already Barnabas has married another.
Her health is too fragile to even consider the possibility.” The woman
(whoever she was) paused, as though listening to another’s response,
and then laughed harshly. “You are soft, brother. Too soft I think.
No, don’t ‘but Natalie’ me. I am Josette’s aunt, and I know what is
best for her, even when you do not.”
She’s talking about Josette, Julia thought, and had she possessed a
body it would have trembled with excitement. The realization that she
had somehow become a incorporeal entity bothered her less than
might be expected; she only wished that her body, wherever it had
been taken, would be returned to her at the end of this strange,
strange journey, preferably unharmed. Whoever she is, her name is
Natalie ... Josette’s Aunt Natalie. Julia pondered this for a moment,
and then remembered La Contesse Natalie DuPres who had journeyed
“Collinwood is suspended now between the past and the present,
because one woman has inexplicably begun a terrifying and dangerous
journey into the past ... back to a foreign century, where she will
uncover the darkest secrets the Collins family holds ... and, perhaps,
the key to saving one man’s bleak existence ... and the future of the
woman he loves ... ” (Voiceover by Kathryn Leigh Scott)
1
Julia was in the void again, somewhere in a vast swirl of icy currents,
with blackness pressing in on her from all around. I don’t remember,
she thought, everything is broken ... I can’t feel anything ... where am
I? She could hear an inhuman wailing noise all around her, a sighing as
though a cacophony of spirits sang nameless, wordless hymns to
some being that surrounded and enveloped them all. I must be dead,
Julia thought deliriously; am I being punished for some transgression?
Is this hell or only purgatory?
“No, André, I don’t think it wise for Josette to leave the house
today.” A woman’s voice, and so familiar, and suddenly Julia realized
why without even seeing the speaker. She sounds exactly like me,
Julia thought, amazed. What in the hell is going on? “Jeremiah has
been dead for two weeks, and already Barnabas has married another.
Her health is too fragile to even consider the possibility.” The woman
(whoever she was) paused, as though listening to another’s response,
and then laughed harshly. “You are soft, brother. Too soft I think.
No, don’t ‘but Natalie’ me. I am Josette’s aunt, and I know what is
best for her, even when you do not.”
She’s talking about Josette, Julia thought, and had she possessed a
body it would have trembled with excitement. The realization that she
had somehow become a incorporeal entity bothered her less than
might be expected; she only wished that her body, wherever it had
been taken, would be returned to her at the end of this strange,
strange journey, preferably unharmed. Whoever she is, her name is
Natalie ... Josette’s Aunt Natalie. Julia pondered this for a moment,
and then remembered La Contesse Natalie DuPres who had journeyed
from Martinique with her brother André and his daughter Josette for the
highly anticipated wedding to Barnabas Collins at the end of 1795.
I’m getting closer, Julia realized; she could hear other things now, the
quiet click as the door latched in Andre’s wake; the Countess’ exasperated
sigh, and the rustle of the many skirts she must be wearing; even the
relentless pounding of the rain against the windows.
And suddenly she could SEE it, as though she were peering through a
pane of frosted glass. It was hazy, but she could make out the
regal-looking figure of a woman with a thick crop of auburn sausage
curls in a fall around her face and shoulders. She wore an enormous
sky-blue gown with white trim and cuffs and a black cape that flowed
in a river from her neck and puddled on the ground before her. She
had one eyebrow cocked and was staring haughtily at the door
through which her brother must have just departed. It
WAS Natalie DuPres, she was certain of it. There had been a tiny
portrait of André, Natalie, and Josette given to Joshua and Naomi
Collins as a gift for entertaining them while they awaited the wedding
ceremony. Julia’s sense of amazement deepened. I’m seeing into the
past, she thought; I’m actually glimpsing a window into the 18th
century!
And suddenly she could SEE it, as though she were peering through a
pane of frosted glass. It was hazy, but she could make out the
regal-looking figure of a woman with a thick crop of auburn sausage
curls in a fall around her face and shoulders. She wore an enormous
sky-blue gown with white trim and cuffs and a black cape that flowed
in a river from her neck and puddled on the ground before her. She
had one eyebrow cocked and was staring haughtily at the door
through which her brother must have just departed. It
WAS Natalie DuPres, she was certain of it. There had been a tiny
portrait of André, Natalie, and Josette given to Joshua and Naomi
Collins as a gift for entertaining them while they awaited the wedding
ceremony. Julia’s sense of amazement deepened. I’m seeing into the
past, she thought; I’m actually glimpsing a window into the 18th
century!
Natalie straightened suddenly and shuddered, then looked around
her. The nostrils at the end of her aristocratic nose flared, and she
narrowed her eyes as she rose imperiously from her seat. “Who is in
this room?” she called, turning from the left to the right. “I cannot see
you, but I know that someone is here watching me. Who is it?”
Julia felt a tremor of fear pierce her non-existent core. She can feel
me, Julia thought, and was suddenly very unnerved. She tried to twist
and turn in the blackness that intertwined her, and it was though she
were unexpectedly shoved forward. She heard an enormous sound,
as though a wall of glass had just shattered, and felt a blast of icy
wind, and suddenly she was blinking and coughing ... and seeing the
room into which she had just peered. Except that the Countess was
gone.
“Countess?” Julia called hesitantly, and then blinked. It was her voice
... and yet, it wasn’t either. The timbre was slightly lower, less frantic
than Julia’s voice tended to be. It was a thicker tone, more carefully
modulated with years of culture and training. She glanced down at her
hands, and gasped. They were pale and thin, and emerged from a
rustle of carefully embroidered white lace. This is impossible, Julia
thought, and then laughed throatily; after all, what in this entire insane
experience hadn’t been impossible?
There was no mirror in the room, so Julia stepped to the window that
overlooked the sprawling front lawn of what had to be Collinwood.
She was on the second floor, in what was to become Carolyn’s
bedroom. The sky was black with clouds, and Julia knew from
experience that they would soon begin to spin precipitation;
depending on the season it would be rain or snow. From the look of
the world outside, Julia guessed that snow would soon fall.
But it wasn’t the outside she wanted to concentrate. Dimly she could
make out the ghostly flicker of her reflection. But it isn’t mine at all,
she thought crazily. I’m not looking at my reflection. I’m looking at the
reflection of Natalie DuPres through Natalie’s eyes. I’m inhabiting the
body of another woman!
A knock at the door forced her to spin around with a smothered cry;
I can’t see anybody now, she thought, panic clawing at her breast, I
don’t KNOW anything!
The door opened without another knock, and a luminously beautiful
young woman with round cheeks and a mountain of russet curls glided
in. She was dressed all in black, with a black mourning veil pulled
back from her face so that her enormous brown eyes could peer from
behind black lashes at the world. Her face was pale and creamy, as
befits a lady in her station, Julia decided, and knew even before she
spoke who she was. “Aunt Natalie,” Josette Collins said, and her
voice was reproachful. “Papa says you won’t allow me to tour the
gardens this afternoon with Barnabas, and I don’t see any reason why
I cannot.”
Julia was absolutely speechless. Her mind raced. What had been the
reason Natalie gave André before sending him away? Think, woman,
think! “It will begin to snow soon,” she said without thinking, and
Josette turned away petulantly and glared into the distance. Blessedly
the rest of the information came to her. “You are in mourning, Josette,
for your husband, and Barnabas himself has only just been married
...” She broke off, suddenly aware of the enormity of what she had
just said, unaware that Josette had turned to stare at her curiously.
Barnabas ... married? He had never let on!
“Aunt Natalie,” Josette set, placing a hand on her aunt’s shoulder,
“are you feeling all right?” The anger in her voice had evaporated and
was replaced with concern. “You look quite pale.”
Julia placed a trembling hand to her head, and began to improvise
wildly. “To be honest, Josette,” she said in a small voice unlike the
trumpeting voice of the woman she had just replaced, “I had a bad fall
only a moment ago, just after your father left me. I’m afraid I struck
my head rather fiercely against the window.”
“Oh, no!” Josette cried, and rained a multitude of kisses upon her
aunt’s “bruised” forehead. “My poor darling! Would you like me to
call a doctor?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Julia said, affecting some of
Natalie’s haughtiness, “but I really don’t feel very well. I ... I’ve been
thinking some of the strangest things the past few moments.” She took
Josette’s hand and squeezed it in her own. “My dear, at first I didn’t
recognize you when you came in!”
“Mon dieu!” Josette exclaimed, and fervently kissed Julia’s hand. “I
wondered at the strange look you gave me when I entered the room.
Natalie, I think that a doctor should be called.”
“No, no,” Julia assured her, “I will be all right, I promise. Just ...
please excuse any strange things I may
sense, or any gaps in my memory.” Please buy it! Julia prayed, and
was startled by another unsettling possibility that had just arisen. She
couldn’t speak French. At all. What if Josette or André started
babbling at her in what was supposed to be Natalie’s native tongue?
If she did the natural thing and fell down in a faint, a doctor would
surely be called, and then what? They wouldn’t commit her to a
sanitarium ... would they? Did they even have sanitariums back then?
But you’re living “back then”, Julia, she thought miserably, and you’re
going to have to be very careful on your toes from now on, very
careful indeed. This “amnesia” charade won’t hold up for very long.
“I shan’t meet Barnabas in the garden,” Josette said resolutely, “if
that’s really what you wish. Besides, you are right, Aunt Natalie.
Barnabas is married now.”
“So he is,” Julia said carefully, “and you must be a lady at all times,
Josette. You must never be alone with him without a chaperone, is that
clear?”
Josette pouted. “Yes,” she said, doe-eyed and innocent. “But Aunt
Natalie, he had something very important to tell me ... he thinks my
life may be in terrible danger!” Her lips were pursed, and Julia saw
that she was truly afraid. She scanned her mind for important dates, trying
desperately to remember the day that Josette had died. Of course, it
would do her no good if she didn’t know today’s date, she thought
logically.
“So he is,” Julia said carefully, “and you must be a lady at all times,
Josette. You must never be alone with him without a chaperone, is that
clear?”
Josette pouted. “Yes,” she said, doe-eyed and innocent. “But Aunt
Natalie, he had something very important to tell me ... he thinks my
life may be in terrible danger!” Her lips were pursed, and Julia saw
that she was truly afraid. She scanned her mind for important dates, trying
desperately to remember the day that Josette had died. Of course, it
would do her no good if she didn’t know today’s date, she thought
logically.
“Josette,” she said slyly, “my memory is still a little addled. Could you
remind me, please, of today’s date?”
“Of course,” Josette said. “It’s the 8th of January, in the year of our
Lord, 1796.”
“Oh yes, yes,” Julia said. If she remembered correctly, then Josette’s
death wasn’t scheduled for another two weeks or so. So what was
Barnabas worried about? “I will see Barnabas this afternoon,” she
announced, “in your place. What time did he say he would meet
you?”
2
She saw him coming before he even noticed her, and, despite the
thudding awful cliché behind her reaction, her breath was literally
taken away. His hair was carelessly brushed across his forehead in a
style that was very familiar to her (after all, she’d seen him only half an
hour ago ... and two centuries away), but his face was ALIVE,
blooming with life and health; his cheeks, suffering from the sting of
the bitter wind, were blazing red; his brown eyes were moist, and he
was shivering despite the heavy green Inverness cape he had pulled
tightly around him. He clutched his silver wolf’s head cane in his right
hand, and waved impatiently back and forth. Obviously, Julia thought
clinically, he was VERY excited to see Josette.
She had spent all that afternoon in her room, going through everything
that Natalie possessed while, at the same time, making a desperate
attempt to gather her thoughts. Why have I come back to this time?
she asked; he had instantly disqualified the idea that this was all a
dream. Obviously it wasn’t. No dream had EVER been this realistic,
and besides, she already had three or four bruises on her arm
(Natalie’s arm?) where she had pinched herself. If vampires were a
possibility, Julia was forced to concede, then time travel was equally
possible. The only thing that bothered her was the lack of her own
body. Where had it gone? Was it still in 1967? And what had
happened to Natalie DuPres?
Julia had spent nearly an hour brooding over these and other
disquieting questions before she had discovered Natalie’s journal, and
oh, what a boon that had proven to be. It was quite up-to-date (the
last entry had been the night before), and told her almost everything
she needed to know about the Collins family. Natalie’s opinions were
quite frank, and, blessedly, she had NOT written in French. Julia
wondered briefly why that was, and decided that it was better not to
look a gift horse in the mouth. She learned that Joshua Collins,
Barnabas’ father, was a gruff, cold man, his wife Naomi, although
sweet and a devoted mother to little Sarah, was a burgeoning alcoholic, and that
Abigail Collins was a raving religious fanatic bordering on lunacy. It
had been she who had summoned the Reverend Trask to root out a
witch, although the Reverend himself (a man Natalie regarded as an
utter charlatan) had vanished shortly after Jeremiah Collins’ death at
the hands of his nephew. Julia had digested the entire situation with
amazement. She had no idea so many terrible troubles had plagued
the Collins family during this time.
But she was left with an even darker question. How had Barnabas
become a vampire? He was very reticent on the subject, making
various, cryptic remarks about “the most evil force who ever lived”, a
woman who “reaches out across the centuries now to destroy me”.
Who was this woman? Did she have something to do with Cassandra
Collins, who herself had an inordinate interest in Barnabas, while he
held for her an unfathomable hatred and mistrust?
Barnabas saw her now, and she straightened, preparing to play the
part of the moralizing harridan. When he realized who exactly had
come to meet him, Julia was quite disappointed to see that his face
fell, and remembered that he saw Natalie DuPres (but, a nasty little
interior voice prodded her, would it really make much of a difference?
You’re not Josette, and you never will be, and that’s all that matters
to him, now or ever.) “What are you doing here?” he asked, shock
and suspicion mingling in his voice.
thudding awful cliché behind her reaction, her breath was literally
taken away. His hair was carelessly brushed across his forehead in a
style that was very familiar to her (after all, she’d seen him only half an
hour ago ... and two centuries away), but his face was ALIVE,
blooming with life and health; his cheeks, suffering from the sting of
the bitter wind, were blazing red; his brown eyes were moist, and he
was shivering despite the heavy green Inverness cape he had pulled
tightly around him. He clutched his silver wolf’s head cane in his right
hand, and waved impatiently back and forth. Obviously, Julia thought
clinically, he was VERY excited to see Josette.
She had spent all that afternoon in her room, going through everything
that Natalie possessed while, at the same time, making a desperate
attempt to gather her thoughts. Why have I come back to this time?
she asked; he had instantly disqualified the idea that this was all a
dream. Obviously it wasn’t. No dream had EVER been this realistic,
and besides, she already had three or four bruises on her arm
(Natalie’s arm?) where she had pinched herself. If vampires were a
possibility, Julia was forced to concede, then time travel was equally
possible. The only thing that bothered her was the lack of her own
body. Where had it gone? Was it still in 1967? And what had
happened to Natalie DuPres?
Julia had spent nearly an hour brooding over these and other
disquieting questions before she had discovered Natalie’s journal, and
oh, what a boon that had proven to be. It was quite up-to-date (the
last entry had been the night before), and told her almost everything
she needed to know about the Collins family. Natalie’s opinions were
quite frank, and, blessedly, she had NOT written in French. Julia
wondered briefly why that was, and decided that it was better not to
look a gift horse in the mouth. She learned that Joshua Collins,
Barnabas’ father, was a gruff, cold man, his wife Naomi, although
sweet and a devoted mother to little Sarah, was a burgeoning alcoholic, and that
Abigail Collins was a raving religious fanatic bordering on lunacy. It
had been she who had summoned the Reverend Trask to root out a
witch, although the Reverend himself (a man Natalie regarded as an
utter charlatan) had vanished shortly after Jeremiah Collins’ death at
the hands of his nephew. Julia had digested the entire situation with
amazement. She had no idea so many terrible troubles had plagued
the Collins family during this time.
But she was left with an even darker question. How had Barnabas
become a vampire? He was very reticent on the subject, making
various, cryptic remarks about “the most evil force who ever lived”, a
woman who “reaches out across the centuries now to destroy me”.
Who was this woman? Did she have something to do with Cassandra
Collins, who herself had an inordinate interest in Barnabas, while he
held for her an unfathomable hatred and mistrust?
Barnabas saw her now, and she straightened, preparing to play the
part of the moralizing harridan. When he realized who exactly had
come to meet him, Julia was quite disappointed to see that his face
fell, and remembered that he saw Natalie DuPres (but, a nasty little
interior voice prodded her, would it really make much of a difference?
You’re not Josette, and you never will be, and that’s all that matters
to him, now or ever.) “What are you doing here?” he asked, shock
and suspicion mingling in his voice.
Julia drew herself up importantly, and bowed her head. “Barnabas,”
she said formally, “good evening.”
“Countess,” Barnabas sighed tiredly, “where is Josette? I was
supposed to meet her here.”
“I know,” Julia said, more snippily than she really intended, and
drummed her pointed, well-trimmed fingernails against the stone
bench upon which she sat. Around her, the leafless bushes and
twisted trees rustled secretly. “I deemed it inappropriate for her to
meet you like this. After all, she is a widow and you are a married
man. It is most improper.”
“I think,” Barnabas growled, “that Josette is a grown woman, and she
may see whomever she wants to whenever she wants to.”
“I disagree,” Julia snapped. “Josette is my niece; I have brought her
up since her mother died when she was but a child, and I have nothing
but her best interest at heart.” Barnabas bowed his head, and she saw
that his mouth had curled with shame. Relentlessly, she continued, “I
am very interested in your marriage, Barnabas.” He lifted his head and
stared at her with open-mouthed surprise. She tried to repress a
smile; this is easier than I thought it was going to be! Be careful, Julia,
that little warning voice piped shrilly. You’re on thin ice, and don’t
forget it. She had no idea who “Angelique” was, but she had gathered
that the woman (girl?) had been Josette’s maid (she was mentioned
infrequently at the beginning of the journal, but the last few pages had
been covered with quite a lot of torrid detail; most were vivid
descriptions of Angelique’s enormous blue eyes, how Natalie hadn’t
trusted them, and her blooming suspicion that witchcraft was indeed
being practiced, and that the culprit had lived with them for years)
since Josette herself had been a small child, and she had practically
grown up in the DuPres household. She had accompanied the family
to America for the wedding, and it was intended that she remain as a
servant to the Collins family ... until tragedy flattened them all, making
ashes out of their plans. Josette had married Jeremiah, and almost in
retaliation Barnabas had married Angelique.
“What about it interests you, Countess?” Barnabas asked, his eyes
slitted.
“I believe that your wife is not all she appears to be,” Julia said
haughtily. “I believe that —”
Barnabas was nodding. “I can say nothing about it, Countess,” he
said urgently, and glanced over his shoulder. “But I’ll warn you in
Josette’s stead. I want you to take her away, Countess, as quickly as
you can. She is in terrible, terrible danger.”
“I know,” Julia said.
Barnabas gaped at her. “You ... you know?” he asked, then growled,
“How is this possible?”
“What about it interests you, Countess?” Barnabas asked, his eyes
slitted.
“I believe that your wife is not all she appears to be,” Julia said
haughtily. “I believe that —”
Barnabas was nodding. “I can say nothing about it, Countess,” he
said urgently, and glanced over his shoulder. “But I’ll warn you in
Josette’s stead. I want you to take her away, Countess, as quickly as
you can. She is in terrible, terrible danger.”
“I know,” Julia said.
Barnabas gaped at her. “You ... you know?” he asked, then growled,
“How is this possible?”
She held out the Tarot cards she’d discovered on Natalie’s
nightstand. “The cards have foretold the presence of a wicked woman
in this house.” Barnabas was nodding impatiently. “I read them this
morning and learned that there is a shadow over my Josette, and that
I must protect her at all costs. I believe that this shadow has
something to do with Angelique, and that you are in danger as well.”
“In danger from what?” The new voice, almost feline in its femininity,
was sharp, cruel, suspicious, and above all, instantly recognizable.
Whereas Josette’s face and tone was similar to Maggie Evans, as
Julia first laid eyes on the bride of Barnabas Collins, she knew that
this was not serendipity, no chance coincidence of face and voice.
The woman that married Barnabas Collins, the woman that now
stood before them both with her lower lip trembling furiously, this
woman was Cassandra Collins. Julia knew it, and suddenly
understood. There IS a witch in this house, she thought; a witch in this
house in this time, and a witch in the time I just left.
“Angelique,” Barnabas said anxiously, and Julia wondered if he might
faint, “I ... I happened to meet the Countess in the garden and we
were just ... uh ... just discussing —” He broke off, and licked his lips.
His face was the color of paper, ashen and set.
“Yes?” Angelique asked, her voice thick with cloying sweetness. Julia
didn’t buy it for a moment. She was even more beautiful than
Cassandra, if possible, and she owed most of the difference to the
hundreds of ringlets that were arranged carefully atop her head, the
most brilliant golden color Julia had ever seen. She was delicate in an
olive empire-waisted dress and a gray cape thrown over it; an
enormous white ring encircled her finger, and Julia recognized it
instantly. After all, hadn’t she just seen it on Cassandra’s hand only a
few hours before? “I must say, Countess, that I’m quite intrigued by
your suppositions. If my husband is in danger, I should like to know
from what.”
Julia’s chin was thrust out furiously, and she resisted the urge to bark
out what she knew to be true at her newly found enemy; to do so
would be extremely hazardous, and, more likely, deadly as well. If
Angelique is a witch, Julia thought, (and I have no doubt that she is),
then my life could be in danger as well. And what if Natalie’s body is
killed? Will I change time? And will I even be able to return to 1967?
“The plague,” she said carefully and deliberately. “There have been
rumors of the plague in the village. Ben Stokes brought the news this
afternoon. The village is in an uproar.” Which was true. Julia had met
Ben Stokes only half hour ago, as she’d left her room on the way to
meet Barnabas in the garden. He was an enormous bull of a man, with a
thick crop of dark brown hair, a mouth that seemed to take up the lower
half of his face, and shoulders that seemed several feet across. Julia had
seen the resemblance to the Professor she knew in 1967 instantly, and
knew at once that he was an ancestor.
Angelique drew a pale hand to her throat and swallowed. “Dear me,”
she said, and her voice was still choked with faux sweetness. “That IS
terrible news. Barnabas?” she said, turning to her husband and
clutching his arm. Barnabas squirmed, and Julia knew at once that he
knew the truth about her as well. That’s what he wanted to
communicate to Josette, Julia thought grimly, but he’s afraid to
actually name her as the witch. She’s probably made all sorts of
terrible threats. “Barnabas, we should take our honeymoon right away
... leave tomorrow! We can sail to Paris and return by early summer,
and by then all these whispers about a plague will —”
“No,” Barnabas said curtly, and shrugged her arm off. He bowed
stiffly to Julia, and said, “Thank you for the warning, Countess. I’m
going into Collinwood now to see my Mother.” His eyes flitted to
Angelique’s, but he said nothing, and left them alone. Angelique
watched him go. Her mouth hung open, and she closed it with a
snap, then glared after him.
“I should follow him,” Angelique hissed, barely able to control her
rage. “I don’t want him to see his Father. You of all people know the
horrible things that Joshua Collins has said against me.”
“Me?” Julia asked with genuine surprise, and Angelique turned to
look at her suspiciously, her golden ringlets bouncing with the jerk of
her head.
“Of course,” Angelique said, then cocked her head. “He’s been rude
to you since the moment you entered this house ... well, he’s been just
as rude to me! He’s threatened to disinherit Barnabas, you know, if
he married me!”
Julia hadn’t known that; Natalie had omitted that detail in the course
of her journaling. “Joshua Collins is a proud man,” she said strongly,
and Angelique nodded. “You would do well to stay away from him
too.”
“I have no intention of running afoul of him tonight,” Angelique
declared, and stalked off in the direction of her husband. Julia
watched her go, and followed her until she was out of sight.
3
Angelique drew a pale hand to her throat and swallowed. “Dear me,”
she said, and her voice was still choked with faux sweetness. “That IS
terrible news. Barnabas?” she said, turning to her husband and
clutching his arm. Barnabas squirmed, and Julia knew at once that he
knew the truth about her as well. That’s what he wanted to
communicate to Josette, Julia thought grimly, but he’s afraid to
actually name her as the witch. She’s probably made all sorts of
terrible threats. “Barnabas, we should take our honeymoon right away
... leave tomorrow! We can sail to Paris and return by early summer,
and by then all these whispers about a plague will —”
“No,” Barnabas said curtly, and shrugged her arm off. He bowed
stiffly to Julia, and said, “Thank you for the warning, Countess. I’m
going into Collinwood now to see my Mother.” His eyes flitted to
Angelique’s, but he said nothing, and left them alone. Angelique
watched him go. Her mouth hung open, and she closed it with a
snap, then glared after him.
“I should follow him,” Angelique hissed, barely able to control her
rage. “I don’t want him to see his Father. You of all people know the
horrible things that Joshua Collins has said against me.”
“Me?” Julia asked with genuine surprise, and Angelique turned to
look at her suspiciously, her golden ringlets bouncing with the jerk of
her head.
“Of course,” Angelique said, then cocked her head. “He’s been rude
to you since the moment you entered this house ... well, he’s been just
as rude to me! He’s threatened to disinherit Barnabas, you know, if
he married me!”
Julia hadn’t known that; Natalie had omitted that detail in the course
of her journaling. “Joshua Collins is a proud man,” she said strongly,
and Angelique nodded. “You would do well to stay away from him
too.”
“I have no intention of running afoul of him tonight,” Angelique
declared, and stalked off in the direction of her husband. Julia
watched her go, and followed her until she was out of sight.
3
“That was incredibly unwise, Barnabas,” Angelique hissed an hour
later. Thunder roared outside, and lightning illuminated the tiny
servant’s room in the West Wing of Collinwood where they now
stood. It had been Angelique’s old room, occupied after the family
had decided to move to Collinwood when the Old House seemed
infested with evil spirits and bad memories. She had lived in it for a
very short time, but she still kept a few of her ... tools available there.
That was how Barnabas had caught her now, stealing into her old
room and removing one of the floorboards to reveal a tiny box. There
were two wax dolls in the box, connected at the mouth and at the
hips; one was obviously a man, with a dark brown lock of hair
attached, and the other a woman, with a red ribbon pinned at the
head. Barnabas’ had ripped them from her hands before she could so
much as utter a cry, and now he stood above her, shaking them at
her.
“I think it was unwise of you to return to this room,” Barnabas grinned
at her blackly. “I had my suspicions, but no real proof of your
witchery.” He held the dolls aloft. “But now I do. Enough proof to
condemn you for the witch you are. They’ll hang you on Gallow’s
Hill, and Josette and I will dance on your grave.”
Angelique’s eyes spit blue sparks, and her hands clenched into fists.
“You sent her away, didn’t you. You went to warn her about me this
afternoon, didn’t you!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “You needn’t deny
it! I can tell by your face. What did you tell the Countess about me?”
He smirked at her. “Nothing,” was the answer.
Her face darkened until it was almost dusky with her rage. “You’re
lying,” she spat.
He ignored her, and instead caressed the dolls. “So,” he said softly,
“this is how you did it. This is how you bewitched them.” He lifted his
eyes to her, and she saw that what she had mistook for quiet
pensiveness was actually a boiling rage that threatened to spill from his
eyes and consume her. “This is Josette’s ribbon, isn’t it?” When she
didn’t answer he shook them in her face and screamed, “ISN’T IT!?”
“Yes,” Angelique whispered, and turned away from him. “It’s hers.”
He stared at her with disbelief. “You’ve ruined all our lives. Josette ...
we were to be married ...”
Angelique whirled to face him and screamed, “Don’t you speak her
name! Don’t you ever speak her name again in this house!”
“I love her!” Barnabas roared back, and Angelique flinched. “Why
can’t you accept that?”
“Because I do not wish for it to be so,” was the sibilant response.
Angelique was panting, and she slammed one curled fist against the
bureau, hard enough to crack the wood. She seemed not to feel the
pain, and stared angrily into the distance. “’Yes, Mademoiselle
Josette, no Mademoiselle Josette,’” she mimicked. “She thought she
ordered me for all those years, but I gave her a life ... one that she
loathed so much ...” She choked on her own poisonous words, and
turned to him with a tiny smile. “For once I would have something that
belonged to her.”
“You are disgusting,” Barnabas moaned.
Angelique recoiled as though slapped. For a moment she seemed
confused, unsure of herself. “No, Barnabas!” she cried, and rushed to
him, trying to embrace him, but he pushed her savagely away. She
stared at him with hurt glistening in her cold blue eyes. “I love you!
later. Thunder roared outside, and lightning illuminated the tiny
servant’s room in the West Wing of Collinwood where they now
stood. It had been Angelique’s old room, occupied after the family
had decided to move to Collinwood when the Old House seemed
infested with evil spirits and bad memories. She had lived in it for a
very short time, but she still kept a few of her ... tools available there.
That was how Barnabas had caught her now, stealing into her old
room and removing one of the floorboards to reveal a tiny box. There
were two wax dolls in the box, connected at the mouth and at the
hips; one was obviously a man, with a dark brown lock of hair
attached, and the other a woman, with a red ribbon pinned at the
head. Barnabas’ had ripped them from her hands before she could so
much as utter a cry, and now he stood above her, shaking them at
her.
“I think it was unwise of you to return to this room,” Barnabas grinned
at her blackly. “I had my suspicions, but no real proof of your
witchery.” He held the dolls aloft. “But now I do. Enough proof to
condemn you for the witch you are. They’ll hang you on Gallow’s
Hill, and Josette and I will dance on your grave.”
Angelique’s eyes spit blue sparks, and her hands clenched into fists.
“You sent her away, didn’t you. You went to warn her about me this
afternoon, didn’t you!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “You needn’t deny
it! I can tell by your face. What did you tell the Countess about me?”
He smirked at her. “Nothing,” was the answer.
Her face darkened until it was almost dusky with her rage. “You’re
lying,” she spat.
He ignored her, and instead caressed the dolls. “So,” he said softly,
“this is how you did it. This is how you bewitched them.” He lifted his
eyes to her, and she saw that what she had mistook for quiet
pensiveness was actually a boiling rage that threatened to spill from his
eyes and consume her. “This is Josette’s ribbon, isn’t it?” When she
didn’t answer he shook them in her face and screamed, “ISN’T IT!?”
“Yes,” Angelique whispered, and turned away from him. “It’s hers.”
He stared at her with disbelief. “You’ve ruined all our lives. Josette ...
we were to be married ...”
Angelique whirled to face him and screamed, “Don’t you speak her
name! Don’t you ever speak her name again in this house!”
“I love her!” Barnabas roared back, and Angelique flinched. “Why
can’t you accept that?”
“Because I do not wish for it to be so,” was the sibilant response.
Angelique was panting, and she slammed one curled fist against the
bureau, hard enough to crack the wood. She seemed not to feel the
pain, and stared angrily into the distance. “’Yes, Mademoiselle
Josette, no Mademoiselle Josette,’” she mimicked. “She thought she
ordered me for all those years, but I gave her a life ... one that she
loathed so much ...” She choked on her own poisonous words, and
turned to him with a tiny smile. “For once I would have something that
belonged to her.”
“You are disgusting,” Barnabas moaned.
Angelique recoiled as though slapped. For a moment she seemed
confused, unsure of herself. “No, Barnabas!” she cried, and rushed to
him, trying to embrace him, but he pushed her savagely away. She
stared at him with hurt glistening in her cold blue eyes. “I love you!
Everything I did was for love of you!”
“How can you say that?” he snarled. “Jeremiah is dead because of
you!”
“I never wanted him to die!” she cried. “Oh, you must believe that. I
wanted for him and Josette to go away ... far, far away ... so that we
could be alone ... together, without Josette’s interference.” She stared
at him pleadingly. “Barnabas, please. When we met in Martinique you
saw a woman, not a witch.”
He glared at her. “That witch is still in your heart. You destroyed all
our lives, and yet you have no regrets.”
“I have my regrets!” she protested, but he wasn’t listening to her.
“The night that Josette arrived ...” His eyes stared off into the
distance, reliving one of the most terrifying moments of his life. “I
began to choke ... I almost died ...”
“You did almost die,” Angelique admitted quietly. “But then I took the
spell away, and you lived again. I couldn’t watch you die, Barnabas. I
loved you too much for that.”
“The word rots on your lips. You’re not in love with me,” he
snapped. “How can I love you? How can I love someone so evil, so
devious, so calculating? You played with us all like dolls. If Josette
“How can you say that?” he snarled. “Jeremiah is dead because of
you!”
“I never wanted him to die!” she cried. “Oh, you must believe that. I
wanted for him and Josette to go away ... far, far away ... so that we
could be alone ... together, without Josette’s interference.” She stared
at him pleadingly. “Barnabas, please. When we met in Martinique you
saw a woman, not a witch.”
He glared at her. “That witch is still in your heart. You destroyed all
our lives, and yet you have no regrets.”
“I have my regrets!” she protested, but he wasn’t listening to her.
“The night that Josette arrived ...” His eyes stared off into the
distance, reliving one of the most terrifying moments of his life. “I
began to choke ... I almost died ...”
“You did almost die,” Angelique admitted quietly. “But then I took the
spell away, and you lived again. I couldn’t watch you die, Barnabas. I
loved you too much for that.”
“The word rots on your lips. You’re not in love with me,” he
snapped. “How can I love you? How can I love someone so evil, so
devious, so calculating? You played with us all like dolls. If Josette
knew who really killed her husband—”
Angelique’s head jerked up. “But she will never know,” she
pronounced, “because if you tell her, Josette will die the most horrible
death imaginable.” She smiled diabolically. “Do you want me to
conjure a vision of her death, Barnabas? It would not be real, but it
Angelique’s head jerked up. “But she will never know,” she
pronounced, “because if you tell her, Josette will die the most horrible
death imaginable.” She smiled diabolically. “Do you want me to
conjure a vision of her death, Barnabas? It would not be real, but it
could become real very easily.”
“I will have no more of your tricks,” he growled.
“I can make Josette hate you,” Angelique swore, standing before him
and spitting the words into his face. Her eyes blazed at him. “She will
despise you if I will it to be so!”
“So be it,” Barnabas said. “But as long as she is on this earth I will
never love another. And that is the fact of it.”
“That’s not what you said in Martinique,” Angelique said darkly.
“That’s not what you whispered in my ear.”
“That was different,” Barnabas said, and for the first time there was
guilt in his voice. “I ... I didn’t know how Josette felt for me. And
when she went to France, I thought I’d never see her again.”
“Lies,” Angelique spat, and stalked away from him. “All lies!”
“Angelique,” Barnabas said carefully, and his eyes never left the place
on the wall where they were fixed, “I will allow you to leave
Collinwood tonight if you swear never to return. Father will see that
the marriage is annulled. I’m going to give you a thousand dollars,”
Barnabas said, “and then I’m going to allow you to pack all of your
things and be out of Collinsport by tomorrow morning.
You’ll go to Boston of course, and from there you can go anywhere
in the world.” His voice was so tender, she thought, agonized, so very
tender. But I’ll never hear that tenderness again.
“And then what?” she asked.
“I’ll go to Josette,” he said, “and I’ll explain everything.” He raised the
wax figurine wrapped in Jeremiah’s missing handkerchief. “When she
sees this, she’ll understand.”
“And you’ll marry, I suppose,” Angelique mused.
“I will try to win back her respect,” Barnabas said, “and then her
love.”
“And if I refuse your offer? If I refuse to give you up and decide to
remain the mistress of Collinwood?”
“Then I will take these dolls to the bailiff in Collinsport,” Barnabas
said in that same, calm infuriating tone, “and they will hang you for the
witch you are.”
“I will have no more of your tricks,” he growled.
“I can make Josette hate you,” Angelique swore, standing before him
and spitting the words into his face. Her eyes blazed at him. “She will
despise you if I will it to be so!”
“So be it,” Barnabas said. “But as long as she is on this earth I will
never love another. And that is the fact of it.”
“That’s not what you said in Martinique,” Angelique said darkly.
“That’s not what you whispered in my ear.”
“That was different,” Barnabas said, and for the first time there was
guilt in his voice. “I ... I didn’t know how Josette felt for me. And
when she went to France, I thought I’d never see her again.”
“Lies,” Angelique spat, and stalked away from him. “All lies!”
“Angelique,” Barnabas said carefully, and his eyes never left the place
on the wall where they were fixed, “I will allow you to leave
Collinwood tonight if you swear never to return. Father will see that
the marriage is annulled. I’m going to give you a thousand dollars,”
Barnabas said, “and then I’m going to allow you to pack all of your
things and be out of Collinsport by tomorrow morning.
You’ll go to Boston of course, and from there you can go anywhere
in the world.” His voice was so tender, she thought, agonized, so very
tender. But I’ll never hear that tenderness again.
“And then what?” she asked.
“I’ll go to Josette,” he said, “and I’ll explain everything.” He raised the
wax figurine wrapped in Jeremiah’s missing handkerchief. “When she
sees this, she’ll understand.”
“And you’ll marry, I suppose,” Angelique mused.
“I will try to win back her respect,” Barnabas said, “and then her
love.”
“And if I refuse your offer? If I refuse to give you up and decide to
remain the mistress of Collinwood?”
“Then I will take these dolls to the bailiff in Collinsport,” Barnabas
said in that same, calm infuriating tone, “and they will hang you for the
witch you are.”
“No,” she said, and there was no fear, no anger, and no hatred in her
voice. The word slipped from her lips coolly, with no emotion
couching it whatsoever. She darted forward so quickly, with the
speed of a viper, that Barnabas really didn’t know what was
happening. She leaped forward, her hand outstretched, and he saw
that she clutched a little knife that she’d used to carve the doll.
But he was quicker than she, and clutched her wrist, grinding the
delicate bones with his enormous hand. She struggled valiantly, the
knife reaching for his chest, reaching hungrily, awaiting the splash of
blood that would feed its hunger and her own as it would plunge into
his chest. Thunder crashed beyond them, shaking the great house to
its foundation, and in the moment that Barnabas twisted her arm, the
knife plunged into Angelique’s breast — and into her heart.
He stared down at her, his face washed out and blank. Her eyes were
looking upwards, wide and blue, and when they focused on him it
seemed as though she were smiling. “You think I’m dying,” Angelique
whispered, and a bubble of blood formed between her lips. A
moment later it burst, and a crimson dribble ran down her chin. “But a
true witch can never die. The Master protects his handmaidens well.
But mark well my face, for you will see it again.” She swallowed, but
it did nothing to ease the painful dryness in her throat. Her chest
burned, and one hand idly caressed the haft of the blade that grew
like a great terrible blossom from between her breasts. “I set a curse
on you, Barnabas Collins,” Angelique croaked, managing to raise her
right-hand index and middle fingers and thumb in a crooked gesture.
Her voice grew shill with an anger that began to blaze in her heart,
even as her lifeblood was pumped out in a scarlet gush. “You will
never rest. And you will never be able to love anyone, for whoever
loves you will die. That is my curse, and no one will undo it!” Her
eyes glared furiously into the darkness beyond Barnabas' head. She’s
dying, he thought with relief. She’s dying . “You will live with it
through all ... through all ...” Her eyes closed, and she sank back onto
the floor. “Eternity ...” she wheezed, then her mouth closed, and a
great spasm ran the length of her body. Her hands clenched into a fist,
and then relaxed and lay limply at her side. Her eyes still glared, and
her mouth hung slack, but Barnabas knew that she was dead. Finally,
blessedly dead.
She is dead, Barnabas thought, and knelt beside her. He stood up
hurriedly, unconsciously wiping the scarlet that stained his hands onto
his black breeches and took several steps backward. Her body must
not be discovered, Barnabas thought, and ran from the room.
The next work of the next several hours brought Barnabas late into
the morning, and when he finished, it was only an hour until dawn. But
he stared at the new brick wall and smiled. She’s gone forever, he
thought. No one will find her body, and they’ll never question why the
room has been bricked up. His smile grew. It’s well known that
Angelique wanted to forget her past life, and this room bothered her
especially. Why wouldn’t she wanted it bricked up and forgotten?
“Barnabas,” Julia said from the doorway, “you cannot do this.”
“Countess,” Barnabas said, and his voice was dead. “What did you
see? How much do you know?”
“All of it,” Julia said. She had indeed been lurking without the room
for the entire conversation, afraid to interrupt, afraid that changing the
natural flow of time would trap her forever in a giant cat’s cradle. She
had followed Barnabas, just as he was following Angelique back to
her old room, and had overheard everything that had transpired ...
including the curse. I couldn’t stop it, Julia thought wildly, but was
pacified by another, calming thought: suppose that, whatever strange
forces sent me back here, they never intended me to do that?
Suppose I’m just here to watch, to observe how these events
originally played out? I know what I’m dealing with, should I return to
the present; I know that Cassandra is really Angelique
Collins, and that she is a witch, and that she’ll resent my experiments
should she discover them. I know the REAL Barnabas, the gentle
young man he was before the curse, and that is to my advantage as
well.
“Then you know what she was,” Barnabas said grimly. “She will rest
peacefully behind that wall for the rest of eternity, and no one will ever
know.”
Julia gestured helplessly, and longed for a cigarette. “What will you
tell your father? Your mother?”
“Father already thinks she was a gold digger,” Barnabas said, and
added sadly, “How I wish that were true. It would be so much
simpler ...” His voice trailed off, and he shrugged. He’s in shock, Julia
thought clinically; if only there was something I could administer her.
Alas, she realized, all her sedatives were in her black bag in her room
... one hundred and seventy-five years in the future. “I’ll tell them that
she took a thousand dollars and ran off in the night. They’ll want to
believe that.”
“You won’t tell them ... what she was?” the faux Countess asked.
“I hadn’t thought about it,” Barnabas said. “I will tell Josette, of
course. I want her to know ... I want her to know that I always loved
her, even when I thought she’d betrayed me.”
Julia felt something stir and crack within her. My god, she marveled,
he really does love Josette. He really and truly does. An
uncomfortable feeling, too close to shame for comfort, stirred like a
serpent in her belly. I was going to use the experiments to force
Barnabas to marry me, she thought sickly. What was I thinking? “I
will back up whatever statements you care to make,” she said tightly,
so that he would not discern the tears that threatened to crack her
voice and leak from her eyes.
“Thank you,” Barnabas said wearily. “Can you leave me alone for a
moment, Countess? I ... I want to clean up.”
“Of course,” Julia said, and left him, pausing at the staircase only for a
moment. Their eyes met — his were dark and haunted, and Julia
knew that they hadn’t been when he’d met her in the gardens, and she
also realized that they were the same eyes she had confronted a week
before, at the Collinwood in her time. I want to help him, she thought
desperately, and then, resolutely, and I WILL help. As god is my
witness, I will give Barnabas Collins the life he never had.
He watched the Countess go, and then faced the room that held the
earthly remains of his wife the witch. He still couldn’t fully understand
or believe the events that had transpired in the past hour or so. It all
seemed so unreal. Was he really a murderer? Was Angelique really
dead? Was it still possible that this was some insane dream? No, he
decided, this was no dream, and Angelique was most assuredly dead.
With her death, I am free, he thought, and allowed himself a tired
smile. From now on I will look only to the future ... a future with my
Josette.
Something stirred behind him, some sound that made him pause and
stare ahead with the hair on the back of his neck prickling and his skin
tingling.
Something is watching me, he thought, something is staring at me.
Suddenly the entire house seemed much too quiet.
I don’t want to turn around, he thought irrationally, I don’t want to
see it, I don’t want to, I don’t want to ...
But when the screaming began, the shrill, terrified screams like those
of a woman in pain ... or anger ... he had to turn around. He couldn’t
help it.
The bat that roosted above the doorway lifted its enormous head and
blinked its ruby eyes. It screamed again, its fangs glistening, sharp as
knitting needles, then it fluttered its wings and simultaneously let go of
the doorway. Six feet, Barnabas thought in dazed horror, its wingspan
is at least six feet ...
But then it was flying directly at him, screaming and screaming and
screaming, and he tried to throw his hands forward to ward it off, but
it was no use. It struck him, knocking him to the floor, and he could
smell it. The scent of the bat hung around it like a shroud; the odor of
garments smothered in dust, the frigid essence of a tomb, the wilting
stench of decomposition. His head struck the floor sharply, but before
he could cry out, the bat’s mouth latched onto his neck. The pain that
flared in his throat in a great red sheet as it sank its deadly fangs into
the flesh and ripped apart his jugular vein in a gout of red, numbing his
entire body as fire coursed in his veins.
It’s drinking me, he thought hysterically, and tried vainly to beat it off,
it’s drinking my blood, oh my GOD ...
Gradually his attempts became weaker and weaker, and soon his
hands, the warmth and feeling departed, fell limply to the ground and
lay there, like dead fish. His mouth gaped, and the only sound he
could hear was the ghastly sucking sounds. Foul spit mingled with his
blood and ran in a great puddle on the floor.
At last it stopped. The bat lifted its head, releasing its fangs quickly
and painlessly, and began to beat its great wings. A moment later, it
had vanished entirely. But before the shroud of darkness fell and
death overcame Barnabas Collins, he seemed to hear a woman
whispering ... whispering ...
The curse, my husband ... the curse, Barnabas Collins ... the curse ...
Julia heard the screams as she was descending the staircase, and a
wave of whitehot fear descended over her in a smothering pall. I
never should have left him alone, she thought dazedly, and was
running back up the stairs even as she heard the startled cries from
below.
She saw him as she threw open the door to the West Wing, and
uttered a shrill scream of horror. He was crumpled next to the newly
bricked up room, but that wasn’t what had elicited such a scream of
shock: the disgusting, monstrous bat that crouched over him with
blood leaking from its jagged fangs, its feral eyes glaring at her redly.
It shrieked again, then launched itself off of Barnabas’ body, directly at her.
She fell back, screaming hysterically (six feet, she thought, over and over;
its wingspan was at least six feet), but when she opened her eyes, the bat
Barnabas moaned, and Julia dropped to the ground next to him.
Already her tears had spilled off her face and mingled with the blood
running in freshets from the huge tear in his throat. His eyes stared
upwards, but she knew they saw nothing. “Oh, Barnabas,” she
choked, and took his hand.
“Angelique,” he whispered. “She ... she sent a bat ...”
“Don’t try to talk, Barnabas,” Julia sobbed. “Please ...”
“Aunt Natalie?” It was Josette, calling from the doorway leading to
the West Wing. “Aunt Natalie, I heard screams ...” Then Josette saw
the tableau spread out before her, a picnic from a nightmare, and with
her own piercing shriek she fell to the ground next to Barnabas,
planting kisses on him. “No, Barnabas!” she moaned. “No, you
cannot die ... not now ... not now that we have each other again.”
Barnabas tried to smile, and lifted one dead-white hand to her face,
and stroked the smooth curve of her cheek. She took it in her hand
and kissed it fervently. “I shall love you forever,” he whispered, and
then his eyes closed, and he fell backwards, and Julia knew that he
was dead.
To Be Continued ...
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