Disclaimer: Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production and not mine
A/N: First of all, I want to thank you all for the wonderful feedback, follows, views, and faves. I greatly appreciate it, and I hope you will continue to enjoy the story. To answer one of my lovely reviewers question, the title of this chapter is not a reference to Quentin Collins' daughter (and Chris and Amy Jennings' grandmother.) It's actually a reference to the classic Edgar Allen Poe poem "The Raven." The unidentified narrator mourns the loss of his Lenore, very much how Barnabas mourns the loss of his Josette. Josette is the Lost Lenore in the title. But I understand that theory. I like the 1897 timeline myself. Anyway, I hope this clears it up. Now onward to the chapter.
CHAPTER 4: THE PLANS OF THE LOST LENORE
The stormy village of Collinsport changed drastically in the nearly two centuries since Josette was tricked to throw herself off Widows Hill. She floated down a busy street filled with loud moving machines with strange black wheels and blinding lights. These contraptions also made loud unpleasant noises, which was occasionally accompanied by an even louder, blaring horn. These noises would've startled Josette if she was still alive. But she was not alive anymore.
Black smoke billowed from the back of these vehicles. It would normally make her choke if she had the ability to breathe.
The ghost lady had seen these loud and strange moving machines before. She observed the current members of the Collins family come and go from the great estate, steering these devices. It obviously contain the ability to transport people. Josette believed these loud and imposing machines were referred to as automobiles, or vehicles, or cars. She wasn't certain which was the correct word for it, but either way, being assaulted by a fleet of them made her immensely disliked them. Several of them rudely drove through her transparent form as she tried to explore the change village.
By some miracle, Josette fortunately spotted a grizzled, middle-aged fisherman riding down on a horse-drawn cart filled with fresh fish covered in ice in the back. The fisherman was holding the reins of a single old brown horse. The gleaming white glow shrouding Josette lit up considerably when she caught sight of this. She smiled broadly, and shot her ghostly form up in the moisture air, and high above, gracefully floated down and sat herself next to the blindly oblivious fisherman in front of the cart. Even though Josette was used to riding in glamorous horse-drawn carriages, she mused that the loud contemporary machines would ever replace the romance of a simple horse and cart.
Riding along in the cart, Josette was mesmerized by some bright colorful lights that were not part of the village during her time. The bright green, yellow, and red lights seem to harbor some ability to dictate the horse-less machines, as well as the horse cart, on when to stop and when to go. Josette wondered how these mere lanterns could hold such incredible power. But that was not the only thing that changed. The road itself was smooth and not cobblestone. Some of the buildings old-world Colonial architecture had changed through the power of time, but some of them remain untouched.
When she spotted the Collinsport Inn, powerful memories crept up to her. That was where she and Jeremiah had their honeymoon, and hid themselves from their families. Josette recalled the passion filled nights, but now had a better understanding that a mere spell was the cause to ignite that passion. She remembered the pitchfork mark adorning the back of her and Jeremiah's hand. Josette was still deeply disappointed by Jeremiah's rejection at his grave site, but decided to put that aside, at least for the moment.
A bolt of lightning cut across the dark cloudy sky, startling the old horse. The fisherman had to halt his cart to soothe the animal's shaken nerves. Josette realized the docks were nearby. She floated out of the cart, and headed toward the docks with her white flowing gown and veil billowing in the chilly, salty breeze. The darkened sky was filled with heavy moisture, and the salty wavy sea intensified it.
Arriving on the docks, Josette observed the fishing ships out on the shadowy murky sea from the railing. She remembered fondly of the day she stepped foot on the docks after her long voyage from Martinique. Even though ships had dramatically changed since that day, the people from this village still lived by its core values; being hard-working, and being men of the sea.
Josette decided to further explore the docks, curious to see what else had changed.
She happened upon an old tavern, while some fishermen drunkenly exit from it. Josette's eyes alight in recognition. She believed this pub was called The Eagle. But the sign indicated it was called the Blue Whale. In her humble opinion, Josette highly felt that blue whales were not as graceful as eagles, but then shrugged and reminded herself this was a fishing village. She floated through the walls of the tavern, and found a very humble and dingy establishment on the other side.
In her own timeline, Josette never really went to The Eagle. She knew it was the sort of pub meant to attract fishermen, sailors, and lowly prostitutes. She normally didn't enter places like this, but she felt compelled to. This place still carried a low-end atmosphere, but there wasn't many people around. Only the barkeep, a man in a business suit sitting at one of the round tables, and two men sitting on stools at the bar drowning their sorrows.
Josette decided to further explore the pub. Due to being invisible, she needn't to worry in warding off unwanted advances. Since she wore a flowing white gown with a matching veil, Josette looked utterly out of place.
The place was dimly lit, and a strange device which looked to Josette to be a giant music box sat across from the entrance. It was blaring some rather strange music. The melody was an instrumental piece performed by strange instruments Josette never heard before. As she curiously floated nearer to inspect this, the ghost lady got a closer glimpse of the two men sitting at the bar.
Josette was completely thrown. The men carried the exact same resemblance of two other men she knew long ago. The younger of the men, who was tall, handsome, with dark hair and blue eyes, looked astonishingly like Lt. Nathan Forbes of the U.S. Navy. Josette personally hadn't known Lt. Forbes very well, but this young man bear an uncanny resemblance, even without the Navy uniform. The older, pudgy, and grizzled companion of the younger man reminded Josette of her own dear Papa, Count André du Pres. Granted, her Papa hadn't worn a shaggy beard like this man, and he clearly wasn't a Count, Josette couldn't help but smile nonetheless.
But still, it was only a resemblance. This man was not her beloved Papa, and the other was not Lt. Forbes. They were only mere identical strangers to them, like that girl Maggie was to Josette herself. Josette deeply noticed this town was filled with identical strangers. The Collins family was further filled with them.
As she floated right by them, Josette heard them murmuring something about a dead body on the beach. It seemed another ghost now resided in Collinsport. Josette came up to the elaborate music box, and placed her delicate transparent hand through the device's exterior. She felt various spinning traction moving in a circular fashion throughout her hand. This caused the music to come out distorted and miss a couple of beats. The two men at the bar, along with the barkeep, and the other patron, blearily looked up at the machine dumbfounded by its apparent malfunction. Josette pulled her hand out of the contraption, giggling amused. The patrons and the barkeep, of course, were oblivious to her presence. Once the music box got itself back in working order, the patrons returned to their drinks, and the barkeep started wiping the bar counter.
As Josette was about to fade away from the tavern, the man who resembled her Papa uttered something sadly.
"I still can't believe she's really gone, Joe."
"I can't believe it either, Sam," Joe replied, taking a giant gulp from his long bottle.
"I just can't believe that bod... I can't believe that was Maggie!" Sam shakily shook his head.
"I don't know what to believe," said Joe miserably, rubbing the rough contours on his brow.
At this, Josette listened closely. They were obviously speaking about the girl Barnabas locked up in the cellar.
"She still has to be out there somewhere, Joe, she just has to be!" Sam declared desperately, trying to keep his obvious mourning voice strong.
"I just can't get over that poor girl on the beach," Joe murmured, his eyes widening in a far away look.
"Are you giving up on Maggie, Joe?" Sam pressed.
"Oh, I don't know." Joe rubbed his contours again. "I don't know how long I can be optimistic like you, Sam. It has been nothing but day after day of no news, and dead ends."
Sam suddenly got a whiff of a sweet scent wrinkling his nose. Joe noticed this reaction, and asked, "Is there something wrong, Sam?"
"Do you smell that?" Sam frowned.
"Smell what?" asked Joe.
"That smell," Sam exclaimed with a puzzled look. "It's something sweet. Something floral. Jasmine, I think."
Joe scoffed, shook his head, and took another gulp from his bottle.
"That's not what I smell," he responded.
As she faded away, Josette hoped her scent would somehow console the grieving father who looked very much like her own.
Lightning lit up the dark cloudy sky on Widows Hill, as heavy showers pounded down onto the Collinwood estate, accompanied by booming thunder. Despite the dark storm, dawn would be arriving shortly, and Barnabas Collins would soon rest his day away in the safety of his coffin.
Josette breezed about in a pirouette around the columns on the front porch of the Old House. Since fading away at the Blue Whale, Josette felt tremendous sympathy and sorrow for the girl's family. But in order to change the matter of events, Josette needed to gain control of the Old House. Even though she couldn't persuade a powerful phantom like Jeremiah to come to her side, Josette highly felt she could take small steps to gradually build up her own supernatural powers to reclaim the manor.
After listening to the rhythm of the storm, Josette dematerialized her way through the old walls of the manor, and made her way to the servant quarters. It was probably the most dismal and squalid section of this once glorious home.
She materialized into the shabby bedroom of Barnabas' servant boy. The ghost found him sleeping restlessly on the floor, nestling under a moth-eaten blanket in front of his own burning fireplace, which eerily glow throughout the dark room. The room was drafty, and pellets of rain mercilessly assaulted the window outside. Josette figured he only sleeps like this so he could keep himself warm. She floated down to the sleeping servant on the rough floor, and knelt beside him. She examined his tall lanky features and ran a soft cold hand through his sandy blonde hair, which caused him to flinch in his sleep.
"You called to me for help, servant boy. You are quite concern for that girl in the cellar."
The servant began tossing his head back and forth, moaning, but Josette remained where she was stroking his hair.
"You are quite enamored with her, aren't you?" she continued. "Do you know what young men do for the ladies they fancy? They do something nice for them. That is what you shall do for that poor girl in the cellar."
The servant remained tossing and groaning in his sleep as a result of her touch and voice. But Josette continued stroking his hair. She felt the icy, will crushing power that Barnabas held over him, trying to block her out of the servant's troubled subconscious. But she wouldn't let that stop her.
"You shall present her with a romantic breakfast," Josette persuaded. "That will be a lovely gesture. I am quite certain she will fancy you for it."
Piercing bright lightning flash across the window, and the shutters bang loudly against the rough wind. This caused Josette to remove her cold hand from the servant's head. She levitated up toward the ceiling, looking down on him. He seemed to have calmed once she stopped stroking his hair. He ceased tossing, and began groaning softly. Josette faded out of his room silently, uncertain whether or not she persuaded him to listen to her.
Early morning light peered down onto the Old House behind the stormy clouds, which finally ceased pouring its storms. Widows Hill was peaceful and serene once more, with the soft waves crashing on the rocky shores.
When Maggie awoke from her restless slumber in her dark prison, she heard the lid of her captor's coffin being closed in the next room. Since Maggie's cell didn't contained a window of any kind, or a clock for that matter, the creaking closing sound of that nearby coffin could only signify that it was dawn.
Maggie hurried over to the iron door and peered through the bars. Strangely, she didn't see Willie anywhere. He'd usually came down to serve her a tray of a pathetic breakfast.
The ghost of Josette materialized in the cell, but Maggie couldn't see her. Josette didn't want her to. The ghost, however, scented the cell with her favorite flower. Maggie caught a whiff of this, and turned away from the door quite surprised. Josette then went to open the music box lid on its usual spot on the crate, and it's ever present tingling music filled up the cell.
Maggie's eyes bulged. That was the second time she saw the music box opening itself up for the sake of playing its melody. Maggie rushed over to the crate, and grasped the musical trinket. She stared around the cell alertly, and called uncertainly, "Josette?! Josette, why are you here? What are you trying to do? Are you trying to tell me something? Are you trying to help me?"
But the captive didn't get an answer. Josette remained watching her though, as Maggie continued listening to her music on the cot, trying to better understand what Josette's haunting means for her.
The sound of a turning key broke Maggie out of her ponderings. Willie creaked open the iron door and entered the cell. Maggie shut the music box lid, and placed it on its usual spot on the crate. She spotted a plastic bag in Willie's grip.
Josette watched him narrowly, shielding herself from his vision. Willie couldn't see her anymore than Maggie could.
"Mornin,'" Willie muttered to Maggie from the door.
"Good morning," Maggie uttered, closely eyeing the bag. "What's in there?"
Willie shut the door behind him, and pulled out a small paper box from the bag.
"I got ya some breakfast," he said simply.
"What on earth?" Josette observed with a bewildered look.
Maggie, however, recognized the box's decorative design, and said, "You got that from the bakery in town?"
"Yeah, I thought ya would like it," Willie replied. "I figured ya must be gettin' real sick of my cookin', since ya hardly eat it anyway."
"Servant boy, are you even accustom to what a romantic breakfast is?" Josette said shrilly. Even though she knew the servant couldn't hear her scolding, Josette couldn't help but to voice her puzzlement nonetheless. "A romantic breakfast is served on a polished silver tray, and there are eggs, ham, and strawberries. They don't come with a hat box being delivered in a bundle!"
Willie hand Maggie the box, and she opened it eagerly from the cot. She opened up a creamy, well baked cinnamon roll. The sweet aroma was nicely pleasant for the captive, especially since she gotten real sick of constantly smelling the jasmine perfume.
She grinned up at Willie, and said graciously, "Thank you, Willie. This is really nice of you."
"She likes it?" Josette's jaw comically dropped.
"I'm glad you like it." Willie grinned.
He was obviously pleased she liked his spur of the moment breakfast decision. Willie didn't know what compelled him to do this, but he was glad he did it. But he won't let Barnabas find out about it. He gave her the plastic fork from inside the bag so Maggie could properly dig in.
"A romantic breakfast has certainly change," was all Josette could say.
"I see it still smells like jasmine in here," Willie observed, staring around in the dank cell.
"Yes, but Barnabas couldn't smell it last night," Maggie informed him.
She took a fork bite of her warm and creamy cinnamon roll.
"Yeah, I know," Willie muttered, placing his hands on his hips.
"And that started playing by itself again." Maggie pointed at the music box on the crate.
"So, Josette is still hauntin' ya, then?" Willie asked, furrowing his brow.
"It seems." Maggie took another bite of her cinnamon roll. "Haven't you seen her ghost?"
"Not since yesterday afternoon." Willie shrugged sheepishly. He ran a hand through his sandy hair. "Maybe she likes you more."
"I guess," Maggie muttered. "She doesn't seem to like Barnabas much. She seems to hide from him. I can't say that I possibly blame her." She sighed.
As the two further pondered over the mystery of her presence, Josette streamed through the brick wall beside Maggie's cot, and hovered her way down the dark cobwebbed infested tunnel of the secret passageway. Her glow slightly illuminated the pitch blackness of the passage.
"That servant listen to my persuasion," she said in wonder to herself, rubbing her chin. "He did it in a rather informal way, but he did it nonetheless. I still harbor influence over this house."
Josette smiled proudly, and declared, "If I can persuade that servant, then surely I can persuade Jeremiah."
Next Chapter: The Supper Courting