A whole year passed from one January to the next. It was an eternal purgatory of sunshine and bland green days that flowed unchanging from month to month. Gentle turquoise tides caressed the white sand beaches. Tropical flowers bloomed and shed their petals. Josette celebrated her 18th birthday at the center of a swarm of gentlemen suitors, but only a select few were allowed to kiss her fingertips before they were swatted away.
Josette filled two lacquered boxes with letters from Barnabas Collins, and by September 1794 she started packing a third. The salutation gradually changed from Dear Josette to My Dear Josette to My Dearest Josette, and his signature dropped Your Friend to become Yours Truly. Always the same clear handwriting—bold and slanted consistently to the right—his letters no longer narrated the mundane events in the province of Maine. He wrote to them from his travels to foreign ports in Europe. The Collinses avoided the turmoil in France, of course, and journeyed instead to mysterious locations called Austria, Holland, Egypt, and Kashmir. He filled six pages describing the ruins of the Parthenon in Greece and ranting about the Ottoman Turks for their neglect.
"I want to send letters of reply," Josette whined frequently. "But I don't know where he is! Will he ever return to Martinique?"
"I'm sure he will, mademoiselle," Angelique replied. "I'm sure he will."
On Christmas Eve, on a warm starry night clear of clouds, Angelique alone stood at the crest of a grassy hill. She gazed off at the vast empty sea. Breezes stirred her thin cotton gown around her legs. You must come back to me, my darling. The seven wonders of the world cannot give to you what my love can offer. Return to me, Barnabas Collins. Return to find your destiny in my arms.
#
In May of the following year, 1795, Andre duPres received word that Joshua Collins the patriarch of the family and his younger brother Jeremiah would visit Martinique on business. Josette asked, "Is Barnabas to accompany them, papa?" to which Andre shrugged and tossed the letter aside.
Each time they heard word of a foreign ship pulling into the port, Josette and Angelique rushed out of the house, down the sandy path and through the iron gate. They watched the carriage road for whoever might arrive. They would stand in the warm breeze for at least an hour, until their giggles fell silent and the bright twinkles in their eyes went dark. "Perhaps tomorrow," Josette said, and Angelique walking back to the house with her, agreed.
Then came the day that the spindly black carriage rolled up and over the hill. Its coach was like the body of a gigantic spider with wheels for legs. Six long-necked steeds had slick hides as black as wet seals. Angelique cried out, "It's him! It's him!" tugging on Josette's sleeve.
Josette fussed with her hair and lace shawl. "Do you think he remembers me?"
"Of course he remembers you, mademoiselle," she said with a sly smirk. But he remembers me in a different way.
"Should I have worn the blue dress or perhaps the peach?" Josette's large brown eyes darted back and forth, from Angelique to the approaching carriage, now becoming frantic. "Why did I choose this yellow gown? I look awful, like a giant dandelion!"
"I'm sure Monsieur Barnabas won't give a second thought to what you're wearing," Angelique assured her, even as she secretly agreed that yellow did not suit Josette's complexion. Her own simple gown was a mild sea green to bring out the hue of her large eyes. Lace cuffs matched the needlework pattern of the crocheted cap on top of her blond curls. I broke the enchantment, but the memory of it will linger in him. When he looks at me, again, he will recall what he felt in those dark days of winter. He will see me in a new way, and he will begin to fall in love with me by his own choice.
The carriage stopped. The footman, with one hand neatly tucked behind his back, gave a deep courtly bow as he opened the door.
First Jeremiah emerged, the same as Angelique remembered him. He wore a long brown tailcoat over a green waistcoat. His congenial smile seemed a bit weary; his attitude relaxed and at ease. "Good day, ladies," he called out in halting French with a strong American accent.
Josette answered in English, perhaps hoping that the other gentleman inside the carriage would hear. "We have been looking forward to your arrival, Mister Collins. Welcome back to Martinique!"
"Thank you." Jeremiah offered them a quick bow, then his attention turned to the other gentleman emerging. The carriage rocked as he came forth and stepped down to the running board, and then the ground.
Not Barnabas, he was a much older gentleman, with a square flat face, and small eyes that seemed to be always squinting. His hair was silvery blonde and combed back severely from his receding hairline. His bushy sideburns were the most hair on his entire skull. He wore a long coat of vivid blue, a scarlet waistcoat, and white breeches. Despite the heat, a full length gray cloak draped off one shoulder. In his left hand, he sported a cane with a silver knob.
"Splendid, just splendid," the older man said. His small eyes rolled about to survey the grand columns of the plantation house, the majestic boughs of the date palms and acacia trees, the flower beds bursting with color, and the two young ladies standing at the gate.
Andre duPres emerged from the house. He hopped off the porch steps. His broad girth lumbered half waddling down the path. "Joshua Collins! And Jeremiah! Welcome to my home. Please, don't stand on ceremony, come inside and rest yourselves. I'm sure it's been a long journey."
"Pleasant enough, as such journeys go," said Joshua Collins who strolled forward, swinging and tapping his stylish walking cane on the way.
Jeremiah hesitated by the carriage. The coachmen labored to remove the trunks and leather satchels from the rack behind the rear wheels. But it was not the luggage that captured Jeremiah's attention. He kept staring away and behind at the road from where they had come.
Joshua, entering the shadow of the house, stopped and turned back for his younger brother. "Jeremiah! Are you coming inside, or do you intend to spend the remainder of the day standing in the road?"
"He was right behind us..."
Angelique gasped with the thrill. Josette gripped her arm, too. Both ladies joined Jeremiah in gazing off and away at the packed-sand road. The fringe of grasses rippled on the hillside.
"You'll do him no good by standing there," Joshua said, more sternly.
"But..."
"If my son wishes to dilly-dally about and stop to pick flowers on the way, then that is his business! Now, Jeremiah, you risk insulting our host if you do not join me in the parlor this very moment."
Joshua Collins and Andre duPres continued up the porch steps and into the house. Jeremiah, with one more forlorn backward glance, began his sauntering stroll into the garden path.
Hooves padded the soft sands in the distance. A horse grunted from just beyond the rise. Angelique gripped the garden fence and leaned forward. The spikes of the wrought iron bars were digging into her chest as if to be impaled, but she did not care. She had to see... She had to be the first to see.
A black horse surged up and over the hill. Barnabas leaned down into the mane, and the horse opened its stride. He galloped down the slope at a fearsome, thundering pace. Angelique with a thrill of desire thought of the Greek myth of the god Hades arising out of the Underworld on a black chariot pulled by horses such as this one, coming to seize the innocent Persephone, snatch her out of her mother's arms, and drag his unwilling bride down into the abyss where he would make her a Queen.
He reined in at the last moment, just before he would collide with the carriage. The horse tossed its head and stomped its hooves in place, restless and eager to keep on going—faster and faster—to sprout black wings and fly on through the day and into the night. "Whoa, whoa," he said to his mount while loudly patting the neck.
"Barnabas!" Josette waved her lacy handkerchief at him.
"There you are," his uncle Jeremiah exclaimed. "We were beginning to worry if pirates had abducted you."
He swung a leg over and hopped to dismount, landing sprightly on his feet. Effortlessly, his wardrobe straightened itself out. The dovetails of his long black coat fell into place, hanging to the back of his knees. He wore dark gray breeches and a waistcoat of deep plum. A gold watch fob dangled off the right-hand pocket. The ride had brought a rosy glow to his sun-tanned cheeks. Angelique's blood quickened at his approach; he was more exquisite than she had remembered. She thrilled to the strength of his stride, his piercing dark eyes, his aquiline nose, and his gentle smile.
Josette rushed into his arms. He caught her politely at the elbows and held her off just enough that their torsos did not connect but neither did he release his hold on her.
"Barnabas, why didn't you write me that you were coming!"
"I wasn't sure until the very last minute." He tilted his head, regarding her from a different angle. "Your English has improved. Have you been practicing?"
"Yes! My Aunt Natalie and I speak in English almost all the time, now."
Angelique added, "So do I."
Barnabas glanced her way. His eyes briefly flared black fire, and she knew that he remembered the crazed dreams of desiring her. More than a year had passed since her spell had driven him to madness, but time had not cooled his ardor... or hers. Angelique restrained her urge to throw herself into his arms and shove Josette aside. Any moment now, she thought. He will let her go and come to me.
Instead, he returned his soft admiration to Josette and arm-in-arm, they strolled up the flower-lined path toward the house. "My dear Miss duPres, you can't begin to comprehend how delighted I am to return to the flowering shores of Martinique!"
#
Andre duPres swaggered ahead of the group, leading the way into the grand parlor. All three Collins gentlemen were a head taller than the master. They had well-fit and slender physiques. Their waistcoats buttoned tightly, whereas the master's honey-pot belly swelled against the constraints of his clothes that slaves were constantly mending. When Andre spoke English, the lyrical quality of voice flattened out to a monotone, and he sounded like a man talking in his sleep.
"Do come in, gentlemen, we have a luncheon prepared."
A pair of boys—purchased recently from a cotton merchant in New Orleans—stood at attention by the connecting door to the parlor. They dressed in the finest satin breeches, white stockings, avocado-colored waistcoats, and their bleached cravats contrasted sharply the deep brown hue of their faces. Angelique knew their names, Denis and Pierre, and that they had been well-schooled in the etiquette of a gentleman's table. In the three weeks since their acquisition, Denis and Pierre had managed to offend almost every servant in the duPres household with their superior knowledge of the placement of silverware, the proper way to fold a napkin, the arrangement of condiment dishes, and the sequence of a meal's courses. As such, the other servants of the household had abandoned them to prepare and serve the refreshments entirely on their own. This was to be their test, the first occasion to entertain foreign visitors. Angelique saw through their stiff posture and stoic faces the jitters of slaves who feared to fail their master. One spill, one fumble, one crepe not folded correctly, and Andre would sell them off again or put them to work in the sugar mill. Angelique almost felt sorry for their predicament, but then her attention turned to Barnabas.
Josette skipped backwards and tugged at Barnabas's arm. Like a grand horse being tethered by a child, he allowed himself to be led along the corridor beneath the stairs. She said, "You must come and see the jonquils! They are in full bloom and their fragrance is enough to make you faint!"
"Oh my." Barnabas chuckled through his smile. "I should not wish to faint."
His uncle Jeremiah Collins entered the parlor with Andre, but the older man Joshua paused at the connecting doorway. He rapped his cane sharply on the floorboards. "Barnabas!"
"Yes, father?"
"Where are you going?"
With his only free hand, he gestured helplessly to Josette tugging him along. "I'm going to see the garden."
"Garden!" his father snorted. "Bah! You already know what's there. Now, come in with us and join the discussion. If you're going to inherit my business someday, you'll need to learn the art of negotiation."
"I will, I will, very soon." Barnabas walked sideways, a sort of dancing step, as he continued to follow Josette's lead and keep up a conversation with his father at the same time. "We'll just be a minute!"
Joshua's thin mouth frowned as a flat line. "A minute, and a minute, and a minute turns to hours with you."
Barnabas shrugged helplessly surrendering to the lady's will. He ducked underneath the shadows of the stairs and was lost to view.
Angelique followed a few paces behind on the way to the garden. She had only reached the base of the stairs, when the Countess duPres called out from the second floor landing. "Angelique! Angelique!" She gripped the round end of the banister, holding back her urge to ignore the woman and keep going into the garden. If only she could pretend that she had not heard, but of course that was impossible. The countess's voice carried into every crevasse, upstairs and down.
"Yes, madame?"
Countess duPres struck a grand pose at the top of the stairs. Her house gown was pleated at the shoulders and spread into a broad cone of green-and-gold brocade. A crocheted shawl draped about her shoulders. Her auburn hair was loosely coiffed into a head scarf. She was not prepared to greet the gentlemen, obviously, but a half-dressed countess was a lady in great need of services. Angelique's heart sank at the sight of her.
"I cannot find my deck of Tarot cards," the countess said. "Where did you put them?"
Sunlight flashed briefly from the rear of the house. The double-doors opened to the garden. Barnabas and Josette went outside, and the doors closed behind them.
"I'm sure I can't recall touching your cards," Angelique replied. "Have you looked in the top drawer of your bureau?"
"Yes I have looked everywhere in my room. I must find them! Come upstairs and help me."
Angelique shifted on her feet. "Now, madame?"
"Yes, now! I wish to do a reading of the cards, now that the American gentlemen have arrived."
There was nothing to do but obey, to bow and pretend to smile. Angelique raised the hem of her gown and made the climb up the plush carpeting that smelled faintly of mold.
The grand open staircase curved slightly like a cow's horn, wider at the base and tapering at the top. The roundabout course guided her straight into the countess's reach. Natalie duPres flapped her hand in a commanding gesture, "Come along, hurry!" and launched off to the second-floor corridor with a flare of her brocade house gown. The trailing train swept the floor. Angelique had to skip aside to avoid stepping on her mistress's hem.
The second floor of the plantation house had grand windows with wrought-iron grills over the panes to reinforce them in hurricane season. Lace curtains shined like etched glass in the sunlight. The walls were painted white and decorated with stencils of pale blue and yellow as in Versailles, the Madame duPres had often said. Nothing but pastel hues were allowed. White candlesticks were mounted in brass sconces, and every few feet was a vase bursting with cut orchids or lilies. Angelique spotted a shriveled brown leaf in one bouquet and, without missing a beat in her step, plucked the blemish as she passed.
Countess duPres had indeed searched her room. Every drawer was open, every chair cushion overturned. Her clothes were dumped in the middle of the floor in a heap. Angelique sighed weariness knowing that she would be the one to pick it all up later.
"Where are they? Where did you put them?"
"I told you, madame." Angelique held back her urge to scold the older woman like a child. "I did not put your Tarot cards anywhere. The last time I saw you playing with them..."
"I do not 'play' with them!" The countess raised her chin and narrowed her eyes as if she had just eaten something very sour. "They are tools of divination as essential to me as the carpenter's hammers."
Angelique curtsied an apology. "I meant to say, the last time I saw you divining with them, you were having afternoon tea by the window."
"Yes, I looked there already."
"Shall we look again?" Angelique went to the bay window. The niche curved outward with a built-in cabinet seat and a semi-circle cushion. Windows of exquisitely curved glass panes fit the ribs of framework. Sheer curtains hung in overlapping layers of gauze and lace.
The window seat overlooked the garden. Angelique flipped the latch and pushed both sections of the panes outward. A warm breeze swelled the diaphanous curtains. Songbirds chirped in the trees. Always, the constant hush of the sea mingled with the rustle of branches. In the distance, the church bell clanged the hour. From the garden directly below, she could hear Barnabas and Josette talking.
Immediately, she saw the deck of Tarot cards on the window sill, carelessly tucked behind the dangling cords of the curtain's drawstrings. But she said nothing and began a performance of making great efforts to thoroughly search the crevasses of the window seat's cushion.
"My uncle Jeremiah has just returned from Bombay," Barnabas said to Josette, his strong voice easily carried on the warm breeze. "The truth is, he failed to negotiate a potentially lucrative contract with the British East India Company, but my father doesn't seem bothered by it in the slightest. It's a financial loss but something of a moral victory. You see, my father is quite the patriot. He fought for the revolution, you know, and he was not very enthusiastic about my uncle's efforts to bargain for silks, or spices, or Darjeeling tea, if it means putting a single coin in the treasury of ol' King George the Third. My father has steadfastly refused to drink a drop of English tea in the last twenty years!"
Josette giggled and her voice scattered on the breeze. "Forgive me, but I do not wish to hear about your uncle or your father. Tell me about your latest travels?"
"Oh we just made a stop in Morocco. My father bought us all walking canes. You saw his, the black rod with the silver knob, like the thing that the old Calvinist ministers used to swagger about with and knock the heads of parishioners when they fell asleep during sermons. I think he wanted something more stylish for beating the servants. What an appallingly cruel master my father can be, at times. I have made a personal vow to never raise a hand to a servant of mine. I never have, and I never will."
Josette pinched the ruffles of her skirt and tilted her head in that way she often did when her mind was wandering.
"Uncle Jeremiah thought his walking cane to be pretentious and put it away for 'special occasions' as he politely phrased it. He's a decent, modest fellow—my uncle. Hard to believe those two are brothers."
"And yours?" she asked. "Where is your walking cane?"
"Oh, it's with the luggage. I couldn't very well carry it, riding the horse. I'll show it to you later. It has a curved handle of gold-plated solid silver, die-cast in the shape of a wolf's head. My father strongly preferred me choosing a less Gothic design, so of course, I had to get it."
Angelique leaned over the window sill and gazed downward, seeing them viewed from above. They sat on a white granite bench almost directly below her. Blossoms in every color surrounded them in a haphazard artist's palette of purples, scarlets, yellows, and blues in every variation of hue, offset by the rich emerald green of the grass. Sunlight broke into speckles through the fruit trees. Josette's pale yellow skirts spread around her in a semi-circle like a jonquil blossom herself. Barnabas in his black suit was the only spot of darkness at the center of it all.
"And while we were in Morocco," he said. "I purchased another trinket as a gift for you, my dear."
"For me?" Josette gripped his dark sleeve. "What is it?"
Barnabas leaned back slightly. "Oh, you'll have to be patient. I'm waiting for a very special occasion before I give it to you."
Then he pursed his lips and whistled a pretty little minuet tune, a bit like what the Countess duPres often played on the harpsichord. His whistle was as clear as a piccolo. Angelique did not recognize the melody that skipped up and down the scales like the bird tracks of a sandpiper on the beach. The tune was both pleasant and disturbing, the sort of melody that one could listen to for hours and be lost in a fantasy from which there was no return.
"Can you at least give me a hint of what it is? A jewelry box? A mirror for my dressing table?"
Barnabas stood up. "Forgive me, but I must rejoin my father in the business discussions, although I would much rather stay here with you."
"Until this evening at supper?"
"The hours will be an eternity waiting to see you again." He raised her hand, bowed forward, and brought her fingers up to meet his lips.
No sooner had they touched but Josette pulled her hand away. She snapped open a lace fan and fluttered it in front of her face. "Oh, monsieur!"
Angelique scowled darkly down at them. Foolish girl. If he were to kiss my hand, I would not pull away.
#