Shadows on the Wall Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter 57: Boundaries

by Luciaphil

Once upon a time, The world was sweeter than we knew, Everything was ours, How

happy we were then .  .  . But, somehow, once upon a time, Never comes again!

~ From the 1962 Stage musical "All American" Lyrics by Lee Adams

* * *

Voiceover (Louis Edmonds): On this night in 1897, the residents of Collinwood

sink deeper into darkness.  One threat has been extinguished, but they are but

a prelude to what will follow if Victoria Winters and Barnabas Collins cannot

solve a deadly puzzle.

* * *

Petofi set the Vessel of Anubis down.  The Hand was nearby.  That was a great

relief, not that he would ever voice such a sentiment, least of all to a toy

like Charles.  “It is time,” he announced.

“Time for what?”

He ignored Charles, not the easiest feat.

“I said, time for what.”

“Not now, dear boy.” Petofi fondled the artifact.  There was little room for

error, he realized.  The agenda was clear and at the immediate moment, it

didn’t include Charles Delaware Tate.

* * *

Long ago, Edward Collins had learned that life was much easier when one could

impose mental filters over the more unpleasant facets and events that fate

chose to throw his way.  With practice, he had become quite adept at selective

blindness and/or deafness as the occasion demanded.  So skilled was he in this,

that often, he had no conscious idea he was doing so.  He had not, for

instance, mentioned Laura to Victoria because in his mind, Laura *was* dead.

He had decided that she was (certainly, Laura deserved to be dead) and from the

moment of her leaving him had ceased to be an impediment to his finding a

well-deserved happiness with a respectable young lady.

Victoria was quite everything that he wanted in a wife: beautiful, docile, and

dutiful. Someone to grace his side and his bed--that she resisted his advances

now was a credit to her character.  Propriety and an end to scandal, above all

these he craved and by God, he was going to get them!

The object of his affections was wearing an uncharacteristic expression of

disgust, but he was too busy conferring with Judith to notice.  Quentin stood

to the side.  He and the children were covered in ash and they reeked of smoke.

Neither Jamison nor Nora had said anything since their uncle had pulled them

out of the west wing.  They had not even blinked when he’d told his brother a

convenient concoction of lies and half-truths.

“They need a doctor,” Victoria said again.  It was a discussion she’d been

trying to have with him for the past half hour.

Judith glared at her and even Edward’s expression was strained.

Victoria was insistent.  “They’re in shock.”

Beth draped a blanket over Jamison’s shoulders.  She desperately wanted to know

what had happened in the west wing.  She remembered Laura Collins only too

well.  She had been there when his and Laura’s affair had been at its height.

Edward moved over to his fiancée’s side.  “My dear, your feelings do you

credit, but I don’t want you to worry about a thing.  The children are going to

be fine.  Why don’t you go upstairs to bed?  You mustn’t--”

“Look at them!”

There was something compelling about her voice and reluctantly Edward turned to

view his progeny.  Beth noted that Quentin, however, kept his gaze firmly on

Victoria Winters. He’s never looked at me like that, Beth thought.  He’s never

looked at any woman like that.

“For God’s sakes, go to them!  What is wrong with you?  They need a doctor.

They need you!  You’re their father, don’t you care?”

Edward flushed.

No sooner had she said it than she realized that he didn’t care.  Only in the

sense that they were his possessions and he didn’t want what was his harmed.

And Nora and Jamison knew it, understood it fully, even if Edward himself

didn’t.  The sickening feeling that Victoria had been fighting for ages now

deepened.  “You are their father and they need help,” she repeated, with quiet

force.

Everyone’s attention again on Victoria, no one noticed the brief flicker in

Nora’s eyes.  By the time they were fussing about and sending for doctors, it

had gone.

* * *

Deep in the bowels of Collinwood, Tim Shaw sat on the floor of a filthy room,

propped up against the wall like a rag doll dropped by a bored child.  Had

anyone discovered him, a look--the pallor of the skin, the stench, the blood

that had encrusted on his neck and clothes--one would think he was dead.

Until one looked into the eyes and plunged straight into hell.

Someday, perhaps not soon, but someday Miranda (or whoever she really

was--Edith knew a poseur when she saw one) was going to pay most dearly.

Forget about her ungrateful, wretched, greedy grandchildren, her enemy in the

poison green dress would be the first account Edith would call due.  Not since

the days of her first marriage had Edith burned with such determination or felt

such frustration at her helplessness.

Wasn’t it dark yet?  She ached with such yearning that there were so many

moments when she didn’t care that she was disgustingly dirty, that she had

practically crawled on her host’s hands and knees to get to this foul little

room filled with broken furniture, spiders, gimcracks, and vermin.  What galled

her most was that she knew quite well that when Charity came to her, she--Edith

Collins--would be on her knees begging to be enslaved even further.

She wasn’t done yet.

* * *

Victoria’s disgust with Edward and Judith Collins had reached new heights.

They’d finally sent for a physician.  Edward had been looking at her in such a

mixture of irritation and fondness that it had taken all she had not to slap

him.  His children were catatonic and all he was thinking about was damage

control.

What Judith was thinking about was a mystery.  Victoria had given up on that.

She was no closer to figuring out what needed to be altered in this nightmare

of a past, but she instinctively felt that Judith and whatever secrets she was

keeping had nothing to do with her own immediate problems.

At least Quentin had been gone by then.  She ached when she thought about him

and her and a loss that he had yet to realize.

The time had come to do *something*.  Victoria struggled back into the heavy

and uncomfortable dress with the idea of going to meet Barnabas.  She’s sneak

out and demand that they come up with a plan.

She was halfway down the stairs, when Edward boomed out, “Ah, there you are, my

dear. Come into the drawing room.  We have a guest.”

Closing her eyes as if to garner some sort of inner strength, Victoria exhaled

as much as her corset would allow, before dutifully responding.  She hardly

knew what she said. Guests?  Now?

* * *

Petofi savored the excellent brandy his hosts with which his hosts had provided

him. They were weak willed fools, both of them, but they didn’t stint with the

amenities.  He heartily approved of that.  The woman was a bit shrewder than

her brother, but just as greedy.  “Successful business venture,” “Edith

Collins,” “invitation,” “profits due to the family,” and his own substantial

will, that had been all that was necessary to secure an invitation despite the

lateness of the hour and whatever crisis they were obviously concerned with.

Edward Collins had succumbed first and then after a moment, the sister.

“Here she is.  Mr.  Fenn-Gibbon, I should like you to meet my fiancée, Victoria

Winters. Victoria, this is Mr.  Fenn-Gibbon.”

Petofi turned his attention to the girl.  Charles, the fool, had called her the

new wife.  For an artist, the boy had no concept of details.  Of course, he had

also said that she claimed to come from the future, a fact much more important

than her marital status; that alone made her worthy of notice.

Victoria met his cloudy-eyed stare evenly.  “How do you do?”

She was certainly different than the others--that much was immediately

apparent.  Petofi stood a little straighter.  “I am pleased to make your

acquaintance, Miss Winters and I look forward to deepening it.”

Victoria drew her hand away quickly.

An echo of something resonated through the room.  That he didn’t recognize it

disturbed him.  He must move carefully.

* * *

Beth tucked the covers in tightly around Nora.  She gave the little girl a

smile and prepared to leave.

“Please don’t go, Beth.”

“You need your rest, Nora.”

Nora lifted her arms out to her.  “Please?”

How could she walk away from that?  Even if her back ached and she’d been up

since God only knew when and she still had to take care of Miss Judith.  At

least somebody wanted her company.  Beth briefly grasped both of Nora’s wrists

in her hands and sat down on the edge of the bed.  “I’ll stay a few minutes,”

she promised.  And then she would steal away and see where Quentin had gotten

to, although she had a good idea he would be in the vicinity of Mr.  Edward’s

fiancée.  Beth pulled her attention back to Nora.  She had turned the gas jet

down, but there was still some light.  Nora had never liked to sleep in the

dark and for once, her father agreed that she needed coddling.

The child kept her topaz-colored eyes focused on Beth.  The maid gave an

involuntary shiver.

“Are you cold?”

“No.” But she rubbed her hands together anyway.  How could you tell a little

girl her gaze suddenly seemed like a cat’s?

“Why don’t you warm yourself up by the fire?” Nora asked reasonably in her

clear little voice.

Somehow Beth didn’t want to do that.  Nine going on forty was how the servants

generally described Nora, but to Beth, it suddenly seemed that the child’s

precocity went deeper than that.

“Go to the fire, Beth,” Nora suggested again.

Beth stood up and obeyed.  She held out her hands.  The flames had been dying,

but now they shot up.  The warmth was delicious.  She felt safe, secure,

protected.  The longer she stood, the more relaxed she became.  Nora’s face was

in the fire, but Beth didn’t find this remarkable.  She stared into Nora’s eyes

and became as fixed as a fly in amber.

Some time later, she stepped back from the fireplace.  She knew what she had to

do.

* * *

Quentin watched Miranda stroll around the columns of the folly.  She looked

beautiful in a white silk gown with her shoulders bare.  The scene was

perfectly staged: a lovely woman, a beautiful setting, and the scent of the

garden flowers perfuming the night air. But of course, she knew that.  He’d

been around too many women not to recognize artfulness and vanity when he saw

it, not that he was complaining.  He glanced toward the house.  The elusive

Victoria had slipped out after winning her point about the doctor, gone no

doubt to see Barnabas.

Why couldn’t he get her out of his head?  He’d known women more beautiful, had

them, and discarded them a dozen times over.  Was it that clear-eyed

self-possession?  That even gaze that sized him up and dismissed him.  Was that

it?

“You’re ignoring me.” It was an accusation.

Miranda sounded like a petulant child, he thought, but it would be insanity to

dismiss her as one.  He thought about what had happened with Laura and it was

all he could do not to shudder visibly.  “That, my dear, ‘Miranda’ is

impossible,” he drawled, smiling at her lazily.

She wasn’t fooled, but her hand went to her golden tresses all the same.

Quentin waited.  If he’d ever had any thoughts about bedding her, they’d

ignited like pine needles after seeing her take on Laura.  He pulled out a

flask and took a swig from it.

“You’re wasting your time with that,” she told him, her lip curling up in

derision.

“Is that why you wanted to meet me out here?  To tell me I drink too much.  If

I wanted a lecture on temperance, I could get one from Judith.”

She spread her hands out before her in a Gallic gesture of seeming

indifference.  “What do you want?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Simply what it sounds like.  What is it that you want?” Miranda sidled up to

him.  “I don’t understand you,” she said playfully.

It was like watching a cobra toying with its prey before pouncing, he thought.

Her very winsomeness was appealing and appalling at the same time.  “That makes

two of us.” The exhaustion was catching up with him.  To be rid of the stench

of darkness and fire. To just be somewhere very quiet.  With Victoria.  That

was what he wanted.  Was that her moving through the woods now?

“You have so much potential,” she elaborated.

God, he was so tired.  Had it always been so complicated?  Hadn’t there been a

brief moment when contentment and peace had been within his grasp?  Or was that

yet to come?  “Not everyone would agree with you.  *I* wouldn’t agree with you.

Not since the last full moon.” Not since he’d found out that he’d sired two

children.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Miranda pointed out.  “There is a way out of

this, Quentin. I can show it to you.  You don’t have to play by the rules.  You

can make them.  Anyone you want to have, anything you want to do, it can all be

yours,” she began, possibility and suggestion enhancing her words like the

scent of the roses perfuming the dark night.

* * *

Edward folded his paper carefully and stifled a yawn.  The children were going

to be all right.  The doctor had said so.  Edward had not seen them since

bundling them off to their respective rooms, but the doctor had said they

needed peace and quiet, after all.  He’d pay a visit to them tomorrow.

Edward had decided several hours ago that he was not irritated with Victoria.

It was charming really, that she had such strong maternal instincts.  He

congratulated himself on his taste.

Everything was turning out all right, finally.  Laura was gone.  Nothing was

standing in the way of his well-deserved happiness.  Judith had mellowed to the

point of asking his opinions on some matters of business and Edward mistakenly

believed that this boded well for the future.  Mr.  Fenn-Gibbon’s arrival,

ill-timed as it was, seemed merely to be the portent of a successful future.

He took off his dressing gown, turned down the gaslight and got into bed.  It

had been a long day and he started drifting to sleep almost immediately, which

from Beth’s point of view was very helpful.  She stepped out of the corner of

the room, the bone-handled knife cool against the palm of her hand.

Finally she knew what she had to do.  That saying was so true.  Beth glanced

into the dying flames of the fire for reassurance and reinforcement.

Out of the mouths of babes .  .  .

* * *

Charity drank deeply.

Edith’s thoughts were focused solely on the dark bliss she was feeling.  There

was nothing else.  Until Charity stopped.

The vampire licked the blood off her own lips and laughed.

Remembering at last what she needed to do, Edith went down on her knees.

“Please,” she begged.  “You want Tim, don’t you?  This is the only way he can

be yours.  Truly yours.”

“Miranda--”

“--Is not here,” Edith finished weakly.  “It is but the work of a moment.”

Charity need no more urging.  She fell on Edith’s neck.

She was not done yet.  That was the last thought Edith had before she swirled

away into the darkness.

Tim Shaw slumped to the floor.

* * *

To be continued .  .  .