PART 2: LET ME IN
Chapter 7
"Now look," Roger said, "there is too much going on here all at once. I come home from a pressing day at the Cannery, only to find –"
"Excuse me, Roger," broke in Elliot, "I am sorry to interrupt, but I need to see Julia and Quentin. I found Barnabas at the Old House and he is joining me here, after he has a word with Willie."
"Why can't you meet at the Old House?"
"Roger!" said Elizabeth.
Elliot looked at Roger levelly. "We most certainly can, and will," he said, "but first I must collect Quentin and Julia."
"Well, but you said Barnabas was on his way here?"
"So he is. Why not? The man can walk the estate if he likes. Besides, he has a very strong attraction to bring him up here these days."
"Yes, I know he has. Coterie is changing our lives. A gourmand such as Barnabas would of course take care to be on the spot at each mealtime."
"That is not quite what I meant."
"Tonight, for example: the menu is brioche sausage and pheasant roll, celeriac purée and scallops. Asparagus, new potatoes. German apple cake and coffee for dessert."
"I see. Then I must certainly scheme to be on hand until the very last moment, when perhaps I shall be asked to dinner."
"Elliot," said Elizabeth immediately, "you are under an absolute extended invitation to dine here whenever you choose, no matter the hour. Coterie has been serving a dozen of us here and there is plenty for all."
"Eleven," Roger corrected.
"Well, Roger, I want to talk to you about that. We have another guest."
"Liz – oh – you can't mean it. Who, for God's sake?"
"Mother, I need you."
"Carolyn, of course. Should you be up, dear? How are you feeling?"
"I am fine," Carolyn said, though she looked wan. "Mother, you must speak to Chris and Julia. He insists upon leaving here at once."
"What? Well, Julia will prevent it."
"Julia is behind it. She insists he's to be moved, but won't tell me where."
"She can't mean to take him off to Windcliff, can she?" Roger asked. "That doesn't make any sense. He should stay here where the food is. Who knows what stomach-clenching cuisine they serve people at Windcliff?"
"The point is, Uncle Roger, that I am badly worried about Chris."
"Barnabas will help," Roger said, turning towards Barnabas, who was just entering the hallway.
"Elliot," said Barnabas, "Willie has just told me the most extraordinary thing."
"Barnabas," said Roger, "what have you to say about Jennings leaving this house? I think it's madness; the man can't walk an eighth of a mile on his own."
"Roger!" Barnabas said, turning to him with his eyebrows up, "as far as that goes, we have arranged for Chris to be somewhere else."
"What! Collinwood not good enough for him, perhaps? Absurd. And don't tell me that he's going to be eating any better elsewhere between here and Boston."
"Barnabas," Elliot managed – he had been waiting for a break in Roger's harangue – "as soon as we can gather Quentin and Julia together, we can set off for the Old House."
"Mrs. Stoddard, excuse me," said a self-conscious Harry Johnson, stepping down from the staircase into the foyer, "but is there anything I can do for you upstairs or down here? I'm very much aware that it is by reason of your hospitality that, um –"
"Oh, Harry, nonsense," said Elizabeth, turning to him. "You are a convalescent and a guest, there is no need on earth to think of doing chores! Thank you, though."
"Johnson!" Roger said loudly, knitting his brow. "One of our two or three – four, actually, counting myself – on-site hospital patients! You look a lot better today, I must say, than on the day you arrived. Why, you were as pale as a cod."
Harry's eyes flared a little, but he nodded his thanks. "Well, if Chris is going anywhere and needs someone to help get him there…"
"Do you know Chris Jennings, Harry?" Elizabeth asked.
"We met upstairs in the hall."
"Oh Harry, do you mean Chris was walking around by himself!" Carolyn cried. "I have to get back up there. Sometimes Chris doesn't seem to want to listen to reason."
Carolyn turned and made her way back up the stairs, followed by Harry.
"Mrs. Stoddard, I can come back if this is not a good time."
"Nonsense, Mamie, now is fine."
"Mamie!" Roger cried, clasping the girl's shoulders. "Everyone, this is Mamie Quillen!"
"Mamie is our Coterie representative and server," Elizabeth said with a look of happiness, "and checks on us faithfully to see what and when and where we would like to be served."
The girl blushed. She was tall, blonde and beautiful, with the eyes of a doe.
"Mamie, the pheasant will be perfect. There will be two served upstairs, that's the Water Lily Room and the Primrose Room – Chris simply must stay for dinner, or – can his portion be boxed up for him if he has to relocate?"
"Yes, of course. I will just mark that down."
"Two upstairs, seven of us downstairs and one in the cottage. And four people at the Old House. That is fourteen dinners."
"Fourteen!" echoed Roger. "Elizabeth, is the universe expanding? Did we not just agree that there were twelve of us to be served?"
"Roger, do let's talk over dinner. Here is Mamie wanting to leave."
"Thank you, Mrs. Stoddard." Mamie turned and left.
"If someone doesn't marry that girl, if only to keep Coterie under this roof," Roger said, "then I will." Then he blushed. "Well, um, perhaps we can convince Quentin to do the deed." He quickly thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and marched into the Drawing Room, his ears turning red.
Elizabeth shook her head.
"Barnabas, expect Coterie at the Old House around 6:15."
"Thank you, Elizabeth! What delight that company has brought to all of us."
"And speaking of delight," Elliot smiled, extending one hand, "here is Dr. Hoffman! Looking most elegant in an aquamarine pantsuit that I've not seen before."
"Thank you, Elliot," Julia twinkled. Quentin descended the stairs behind her.
Elliot addressed Quentin while Barnabas smiled at Julia.
"Quentin," he began. "Barnabas, Julia and I thought it apropos that we talk."
"Goodness!" Elizabeth smiled. "What are you all planning over there?"
"Just, ah, working out the oldest of mankind's problems," said Elliot, shifting his eyes to Barnabas.
"Well. It has reminded me of what I wanted to say. I would like to hold a dinner party here," Elizabeth said, beaming. "And of course everyone in the old House is invited. Everyone over here, too. I would like to have Joe Haskell, and Roger's doctor. And Derek and Nadia Schofield, those two poor children. And of course Mrs. Rumson, and Quentin's new friend. Having Coterie here simply calls for a gala! We have not had a dinner party in this house since nineteen forty-four! Why don't we say Saturday the 24th?"
Mrs. Johnson stood in the foyer with one hand to her chest. The look of worry on her face drew Elizabeth's attention as she entered Collinwood and drew off her spring jacket.
"Is something wrong, Mrs. Johnson?" Liz asked.
"No, Mrs. Stoddard, nothing is really wrong, it is only that I lost track of my houseguest. The one I was going to have tea with, remember?"
"Oh, yes. I was hoping that you had had a nice time together with your guest. A friend of your family, I gather?"
"So he said," murmured Mrs. Johnson. "Well, he wanted to see us very much, so I invited him to come, and, well, I suppose he went looking for a bathroom – and, well, he's gone."
"Goodness. I certainly haven't run into anyone. Check with Quentin when you see him, possibly the gentleman stepped out onto the grounds for a look around?"
Mrs. Johnson fretted, "I know Mamie says she didn't see him, but Harry did."
"Has Harry been spending time down here? That's good news, I hope he is making a habit of it. I know you were concerned that he wasn't coming out of his room."
Mrs. Johnson, not realizing that Cary Olivo – Elizabeth Stoddard's as-yet unseen business enemy – had encountered Harry on the second floor of Collinwood, flapped her apron in perplexity. "Harry says that the man has gone."
"Oh. So he's gone, and not lost."
"Yes. He's left."
"Mrs. Johnson, why the concern?" asked Elizabeth.
"Well, I'm confused," the woman confessed. "You see, he came specially to have tea with me. And we never had it!"
Elliot and Barnabas assisted Chris Jennings in stumbling through the woods to the Collins family crypt, where waited the secret chamber, fondly or ironically dubbed "Grand Central" by the surprising number of people who (secretly) knew about it. Julia accompanied them.
"Chris, I hate to leave you like this. You should have something warm in there, and bed-things so that you can lie down."
"Doctor, I'd only rip it to shreds, you know how it goes," Chris said through gritted teeth. And so they proceeded.
Elliot Stokes was there on sufferance. Not knowing what was at stake, he had nevertheless grimly insisted on helping Barnabas and Julia to get Chris to wherever he was bound. "Let's fight about all this later," he had said sternly, putting an arm around Chris. "I seem to be in the middle of a crisis and I'm going to help. Mr. Jennings is obviously desperate, and though I don't understand it, you all seem to know best."
Julia squeezed Elliot's arm in gratitude, and Barnabas nodded to Elliot over Chris' bowed head.
Quentin had agreed to leave separately from Collinwood and meet them at the Old House after seeing Joe off. Everyone had realized that a large delegation trooping off to the mausoleum would have attracted attention, and it was enough that Quentin and Joe knew what was going on. The important thing was Chris' safety, and ensuring the safety of everybody else. With a sinking heart, Barnabas realized that Elliot would probably have to be informed of Chris' malady. Maybe their brilliant friend could help Chris.
After sadly housing Chris in his stony quarters with his boxed dinner, the other three stood outside the tomb. Then Elliot unexpectedly hitched his trouser legs at mid-thigh and seated himself on one of the cold concrete steps. He pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes and a box of matches.
"A habit," he told the other two, "from army days. Good, crisp air and birdsong doesn't seem to want a pipe, just a plain old good smoke. Anyone want one? Well. My friends, you don't have to tell me what is going on here, but I hope you will.
"I realize that this might not be as large a mystery as I am making it. After all, we are all living in the same times. Is it heroin?" Elliot asked kindly. "Is it street smack, come here and finally penetrated the sylvan dell that is Collinsport? If not, what is it? And what can I do?
"I ask this," Elliot continued in his signature gravelly voice, "because my esteem for the two of you has risen immeasurably in the time I have known you. You've faced danger, even horror, with absolute courage. Not to make great lecture out of this, I simply want to ask to be included. Don't shut me out."
"Elliot," Julia said, "you have earned our abiding trust."
"We're going to have to let you in on our consultation, whether we would choose to or not," Barnabas confessed with a worried look that Julia ached to smooth away, "because quite frankly we do not know what to do. Chris Jennings faces a malady for which there seems no resolution or hope of cure. Joe Haskell and Quentin are also involved. No, it's not drugs or addiction or anything like it. I'm afraid, Elliot, that I must ask you to suspend disbelief for a bit while we engage this topic."
Elliot barked a laugh and slapped his knee. "Good heavens, Barnabas! The suspension of disbelief is de rigeur where the Collinses seem to be concerned. Alright, granted. Disbelief safely stowed."
In sorrow and with hesitation, Barnabas and Julia filled Elliot in on Chris' background and the deadly curse now upon him, which had exceeded even its own evil nature and gone haywire, no longer following the course its originator, Magda Rakosi, had set.
"But this is dreadful," Elliot said, his face now as unhappy as the faces of his companions. "The poor young man. How do we get back in there to feed him or check on him if there is no rhyme or reason to the timings of his transformations?" Then, Elliot abruptly stood and brushed off his trousers. "Dear God," he gasped.
"What is it, Elliot?" Julia asked.
"Just this. What was in that room, that crypt, when we shut him in there? Did either of you see anything other than the stone catafalque on which that empty coffin was laid? Anything movable, hammer, tools, rope?"
"No," said Barnabas quickly, "why?"
"The man was wearing clothes, however, which, according to what you have shared with me, will soon be in rags and strips anyway –"
"Elliot, what are you getting at?" cried Julia in alarm.
Elliot said harshly, "This man should be on suicide watch. Facing what he is facing and experiencing this over and over again, I badly fear that he will be compelled to end his life!"
"Maggie?" said Quentin to Joe Haskell, handing him a brandy, "she'll be back soon enough, I guess. Went off to France."
"France?" said Joe slowly, in amazement. "What on earth made her decide to go to France?"
"An insurance payment on a policy that Maggie didn't even know her father had. At least, she hadn't found any paperwork on it among her dad's effects. Shocked the hell out of everybody. It was a pretty staggering amount of money, too, eight thousand dollars."
"Good Lord! Wow, I'm happy for her. And so she decided to see the world, did she?"
"She chose France because her dad fought there in the war," Quentin went on. "He had talked about the villages quite a lot, and the friends of his who'd died there. It was some weird insurance that she couldn't track down, but it paid alright. Anyway, they phoned her and sent her a letter and a check, and everything was legit. Last year's tax records tipped them off and they contacted Maggie; that's how she described it. The insurance had a weird name, if I remember right what Maggie said."
"What'd she say?" Joe asked.
"Well, it wasn't like your usual insurance like, ‛Amalgamated Mutual' or ‛Pacific All-Risk', or what have you. It was just three initials, like BSO or SBO, or something. SVO, I think.
"In any case, Maggie told Carolyn that she and her cousins were going to take three months and see all the villages Sam had fallen in love with when he was a soldier over there. So I guess she did. Her trip's probably about halfway done. She should be back sometime in May, I guess."
"May," Joe mused. "Yes, I see."
Willie gently clasped Patience's shoulders through the bright blue mini-dress she wore. "Now, this is Miss Patience Horgan," he said, nudging her forward. "Patience, this is Mr. Roger Collins."
But Patience's eyes had darkened with fear. "Mister Collins!" she shrieked. Before anyone, including Patience, knew what was going to happen, Patience had struck Roger's jaw with the flat of her hand.
Roger gasped in surprise and anger; he lifted a hand to his face. "Young woman!" he roared at Patience. But Patience came right back at him.
"Mister Collins, the witch is in your house! You have protected the witch against her own good punishment. God forgive you for what you have done!" Patience exclaimed.
"Elizabeth!" Roger called, exasperated, blinking, "what in the name of nonsense is going on here?"
Several days before, Willie Loomis had presented a tearful Patience Horgan to Elizabeth. In halting voices, with much frightened sobbing on Patience's part and absolute awe on Willie's, both had explained the practically unexplainable to Elizabeth; that Patience was the ghost who had lain in wait in the foyer of Collinwood for days, materializing here, dematerializing there, until something awful had happened and she could dematerialize no more. Now she was physically present in 1971, with no way to return to 1796, the true time of her existence.
It got worse.
Patience Horgan had a past that aligned eerily with the history of Collinwood.
As Willie and Carolyn, feeling protective about the lost young spirit, had spent time coaching her, questioning and informing her, it had become apparent that Patience was holding back a great many facts. These would all burst forth soon.
There was a knock at the door.
"Good heavens," said Elizabeth, a pretty slash of annoyance falling between her brows, "I haven't time to see anyone now. Patience, we have to figure out a way to care for you."
"There is no way, Mrs. Collins," Patience cried, wiping her eyes on a handkerchief, "for though I recognize you and Millicent Collins, I know not where we be nor what goes on! What be this strange time and place with its frightening noise and blasphemous clothing? Reverend Trask would have all our heads for certain if he saw me in such a state of undress as this."
"Millicent?" Carolyn asked, tossing an uneasy glance at her mother. "Did you say Millicent Collins? Nobody here is Millicent Collins. My mother is Mrs. Stoddard."
"She be Mrs. Joshua Collins," Patience asserted strongly, getting a stubborn look on her face, "and you be Millicent Collins. Haven't I seen you many times? Do you think me mad? You be Millicent right enough, but with such strange undressed hair and such paint upon your lips and tar about your eyes!"
"Now, now," Willie said uneasily, looking around at the others, pressing Patience to his chest. He felt extremely protective toward the young woman.
"Liz," said a pale, tense Roger in the doorway of the sitting room, the pink mark of Patience's slap still vivid on his jaw, "we have guests. Don't you think it might be time to ring for some tea? Here is Mrs. Rumson, and Derek and Nadia Schofield."
If the unease already present in the Drawing Room were not enough, the guests who stood in the doorway brought more. Nadia Schofield felt very uncomfortable here in this house, yet could not shed the feeling that something drove her to come back to it; she badly wanted to be here. This longing bled into her dreams and thrilled her waking hours. She was tired of questioning the deep, pleasurable need and wanted now only to have it fulfilled.
Her brother stood with her unhappily and looked from face to face in the Drawing Room. He didn't know these people and didn't care to know much more of them. He was only here because Nadia so grieved to be at Collinwood.
These past weeks, his sister called repeatedly for someone named Peter, and sometimes addressed him as Peter. She would wake in the night crying, "Peter! I have to tell them!" and then drift off back to sleep. All of this was ruining his sabbatical, but that aside, he was anxious for his sister's sanity.
Angelique was with them, having espied them on the path to the house and joined them at the door. She was shaken when she got a good look at the young woman. What witchery was this? Was it some sort of hiccup in time that had restored Victoria Winters back to the present? It had to be Victoria Winters; no two people could look so exactly alike.
Was there a way she could use Vicky's sudden appearance to her advantage? Was there some harm she could do to Vicky? There was always opportunity to do harm.
She had smiled and introduced herself to the pair, who had been gracious enough. The Vicky person, who called herself Nadia, had looked on her with absolutely no recognition. Well, it would certainly be intriguing to see how the Collins household reacted to Nadia. From what she could gather from the brother and sister, this was not their first visit. Unfortunate! If only she could have been on the spot at that time to witness it all.
What did Barnabas make of the reappearance of Vicky? Surely there would be some avenue by which she, Angelique, could inject some chaos into the situation.
Now Angelique entered in company with the Schofields and smiled at Carolyn and Elizabeth, who received her pleasantly. She saw Willie Loomis with a strange young woman, who turned her dark eyes onto Angelique with impact.
"I'm so glad to see you all here," Elizabeth began genially, "I don't suppose you've met one another, however? Mrs. Rumson, this is Derek and Nadia Schofield. Derek and Nadia, Mrs. Rumson is a friend of mine and my daughter's."
The newcomers nodded at one another.
Right on cue, Patience Horgan rushed up and struck Nadia in the face as hard as she could.
Elliot settled into an armchair at the Old House; Julia and Quentin sat together on the couch. Barnabas offered everyone drinks, then stood before the fireplace, contemplative. Julia patted the cushion next to her and Barnabas smiled.
"We have much to discuss," Elliot said heavily, "in fact, I almost wish we had a blackboard here so that we could note it all down and keep track. Who wants to go first?"
"Elliot," said Barnabas, struck by a remembrance, "I was going to tell you of an astonishing thing that Willie related to me, but we were interrupted by everything going on at Collinwood. Willie has seen the ghost again – the one in the foyer who struck him, the girl you saw."
Elliot's eyes sparkled. "Has he! And what took place this time?"
"This time," Barnabas said grimly, "the ghost has come home to roost, if you can forgive a mixed metaphor. Our ghost has materialized, she tells us, into our year of 1971 from 1796 and can no longer dematerialize back again."
"What! But that is extraordinary. She told this to Willie?"
"Apparently, Willie encountered her weeping in the foyer and took the girl to Elizabeth Stoddard. Now, Elizabeth …" Here Barnabas paused and glanced at Julia. "I am not sure just what it is Elizabeth knows. We kept from her, for instance, the details of the event in which Carolyn was suspended over Quentin's bed; we told her that Carolyn had fainted. Elizabeth knows Angelique as Mrs. Rumson and doesn't recognize her for who she really is – Cassandra Blair Collins and hence Angelique, the menace who nearly killed her a few years ago – oh, but that one is a long story, and all my fault."
"It's strange," Julia said, "I liked her as Mrs. Rumson. She was so good, Barnabas, to do you that favor, giving Carolyn and Elizabeth safe haven when they had to get out of Collinwood." Julia gave Barnabas a direct glance. "That was not the first time she stepped out to help you. She really did it out of goodwill."
"Julia," Barnabas said with a heartbreaking look, "please, do not count the ways in which we should love Angelique! She will be your desperate enemy the moment she discovers that we are together, no matter her kindness in the past."
"She's beautiful," Quentin said softly, as Barnabas left the fireplace and went to sit beside Julia, "with such a beauty as I've never seen before. But if she is behind the God-awful Satanic things that have been happening to me, I'd rather know she was dead in the ground than see that ethereal face and figure again."
Elliot looked down at the floor. Something hidden deep within his heart cried out; but he cleared his throat and said nothing.
"In any case," said Barnabas, "we're not sure whether Elizabeth really grasps that this is actually a ghost from 1796 who is now walking among us in the flesh."
"Angelique has appeared here so suddenly, we must ask ourselves at least two things," Elliot said, "one: is it she who has been tormenting Quentin with her usual weapon, witchcraft, and if so, why; and, two: is she responsible for the ghost who has landed in the foyer? Has this ghost a name, perchance?"
"Willie says that the ghost calls herself Patience Horgan," supplied Barnabas. "She is from the year 1796, and that is all we seem to know. Although Willie did disclose that Miss Patience is of a bloodthirsty frame of mind. She told Willie that she is here to kill one of the women at Collinwood."
"Indeed!" blared Elliot, brows drawing together. "I don't like the sound of that! Do we know who she means? And why anyway would someone come from the past to murder someone of the future? That makes no sense."
"That seems to indicate Angelique being at the heart of the Patience Horgan situation," Julia insisted. "They both seem to have appeared at the same time. Could Patience be under Angelique's control, and could she be, by proxy, the source of Quentin's misfortune?"
"Julia, I do not believe so. In all that Quentin has described to us of his sorrows – the unbearable stench in his room, the dementing jeering voices that sometimes assault his ears, being tripped, shoved – well, that's downright classic Satanic phenomena. That's nothing for a minor league ghost, which I feel Miss Horgan is."
Barnabas asked, "Quentin, has anything further happened to you?"
Quentin looked stricken.
"Come, what is it?" Elliot probed.
"Well," said Quentin unhappily, "well – I hope that none of you will hate me for what I'm about to say. Twice I've had the feeling, or the idea, or the urge, to burn Collinwood to the ground, with everybody in it."
Quentin bowed his head as the others looked round, aghast.
Not looking up, Quentin said, "I can't stay there any longer. Maybe the jail can take me on some charge. This is all becoming a little too dangerous."
"I agree," said Elliot firmly. "But as to going to jail, no. Why not move in with me for a little while? I think that I can defend myself."
"God, Elliot, be careful where you lay your invitations," Quentin warned.
"Now, dammit, I've got to get to Angelique and try to pump her for the truth! We are getting nowhere like this. That's settled. I'll do it after the pheasant dinner – go to her cottage and see what I find out."
There was a fearful silence.
"Next topic?" Barnabas asked in a strangled voice.
"Nadia Schofield," said Julia. "But there doesn't seem to be any information to be gathered there, except to learn her date of birth. Or if I could perhaps induce her to undergo hypnosis, as a party trick."
"The party!" Elliot exclaimed. "We don't see much of the Schofields, and I don't even know where they're staying, but Elizabeth has invited them to the party she plans on holding on the 24th. The rest of us will be there too. Perhaps something can be done, doctor."
"But Elliot," said Julia with a frown, "what if Patience Horgan has nothing at all to do with Angelique? Barnabas and I traveled through time using the I Ching, but I'm none too sure that Patience has ever heard of such a thing. How did she get here? She says that she is a ghost, which would indicate that her life came to an end somewhere. That's rather different from what happened when Vicky got 'pulled through time' and wound up taking part in the events of 1795 and 1796. Vicky didn't die in order to move through time."
"She did once," Barnabas reminded her. "She was hanged, and by that method was restored to us here."
"It still leaves us with the original problem of Patience Horgan. How do we get her home?"
"Perhaps we don't," Elliot said, looking around. "Perhaps fate has decided that, for Miss Patience, this is the end of the line."
Quentin looked up.
"What we probably need is a séance," Quentin said, "and I'm surprised that not one of you has yet broached the subject."
"Yes, that is probably our next step," Elliot admitted. "Well. Let me try to get something out of Angelique after dinner. She did tell me that she wants another chance and that she rather looks upon the Collinses as family."
"God!" gritted Barnabas. Julia threw up her hands.
"If she means it, who knows," said Elliot gloomily. "I won't count on it, but if she really meant that sentiment, perhaps she'll come out with the truth for once. Very well, then; tonight."
