In the year 1897, the residents of the Great House measure the passage of time, by turns, in increments defined by sinister, deadly deeds, and then by quiet, calm interludes of everyday life.
Collinwood 1897
Evan Handley was waiting for Judith when she entered the study following breakfast. He sat in the armchair perusing the local newspaper, when the door opened and Judith entered. "I see you've been into Collinsport," Judith said.
It was the third time she'd seen him in less than a week. He set aside the paper and stood at once. "Good morning, Judith," he greeted her.
"Evan, do you have news for me?" Judith swept in and took a seat at her desk.
Evan resumed his seat. "I do. I believe Beth and I have come to terms, however …" He let it dangle in the air.
"However?" she asked with a hint of impatience.
"However, she wants more than you wanted to spend."
"Well, I wanted to spend nothing," she said in frustration.
"She wants enough to purchase the lease on the store and its stock, and she wants something to buy her silence."
Judith sighed deeply. Her fingers drummed impatiently on the desk while she considered.
Evan sat quietly as she thought. Then he broke into her thoughts, "Did you know that she and Dirk are … friendly," he finally decided to call it.
"Dirk?" She considered a moment. "I shouldn't be surprised. Of course, she'll need someone to replace my brother. What other suitable men does she know?"
Evan cleared his throat.
"You, Evan?" Her voice communicated her incredulity. "I thought you preferred women of substance … certainly women of more pecuniary substance."
"Really Judith, why must you taunt me this way? If a woman like you stooped to have me, I'd never look at a woman like Beth."
Judith laughed heartily. "Evan, do you ever give up? I've told you time and again, I'm well past the age of wanting to make room in my life for a man, and if I was going to, I would choose more wisely than my ne'er-do-well brother's close friend."
"You wound me Judith and you could do far worse than me," he countered good-naturedly.
"Perhaps, but …" She stood and paced to the window and looked out. "Let's get back to the task at hand, shall we?"
"Which is what exactly?"
"Dirk."
"Why are you so concerned about this groundskeeper and his relationship with Beth? You aren't?" He waved a hand to dismiss the thought.
"Of course not!" She was serious now. "Dirk is ambitious and greedy. And I wonder if we might not turn that to our advantage. He knows a great deal more than I like. We need to separate him from Beth, and ensure that he stays loyal to me, and keeps his mouth shut." She returned to the desk and sat.
"So what should I tell Beth?" he ventured tentatively. In his long acquaintance with Judith, he'd seen her steely resolve before. Beth was in over her head.
"Tell her we have an agreement, and that I'll have the money for her in a day or two."
"Very well, Judith." He rose and moved to the door of the study. He turned back to her. "Have you considered that it might be money well-spent to get her away from your family?"
"I have," Judith told him, her face impassive.
Evan walked out of the study and into the foyer of the Great House. He practically ran into Quentin. "Quentin! You're up early," Evan began.
"I'm turning over a new leaf," Quentin replied with characteristic humor.
Evan's raised eyebrow communicated his skepticism. "Well, in any case, I'm glad. I was hoping to have a private word with you."
"Of course, I was just on my way to breakfast. Care to join me?"
"No, thank you."
"I'll make up a tray. We can talk in my rooms."
Evan accompanied Quentin into the family dining room. Mrs. O'Neill, the cook, was refilling the covered dish of buttered toast. "Good morning, O'Neill," Quentin greeted her with a charming smile.
"Good morning, Mr. Quentin. It's good to see you at breakfast again. It's been too long," she responded, with lilt in her voice.
"It's your excellent brown bread, O'Neill, that brought me back."
Evan thought the older woman actually blushed. "Mr. Quentin, I'm so glad you like it," O'Neill replied, wiping her hands on her apron.
Quentin asked her, "Is there a tray handy? I'd like to take breakfast in my rooms."
"Of course, Mr. Quentin." She set about piling a plate high with breakfast food. She took a tray from the sideboard cupboard, and arranged his breakfast on the tray with a napkin and cutlery. She added a cup of coffee. He waved her off when she offered sugar and milk.
"Thank you, O'Neill," Quentin said as he took the tray from her. She beamed as she made her way from the dining room, with her slow arthritic gait.
A few moments later, Quentin sat down to breakfast in the sitting room of his apartment. Evan joined him at the table. "If you spend anymore time at Collinwood, Evan, Judith will have to give you an office here. What brings you here three times in less than a week?"
"Business for Judith." When Quentin gave him an inquisitive look, he added, "You know I'm not at liberty to say."
"Of course not. Professional ethics, etcetera, etcetera." Changing the subject, Quentin went on, "My research has been fruitless, Evan. I hope you have better news for me."
"The news is mixed. I have a lead in New York City. I think I found Magda and Sandor's home community, and thus, their gypsy king. He might have knowledge of this curse, or even be able to bring pressure on Magda to lift the curse, but …"
"But?"
"But I have nothing to bribe him with. Why should he help us?"
"So what's your plan?"
"To go there, meet with him, find out what he knows, and what he'd want to help us."
"When do you leave?"
"As soon as my business for Judith is finalized."
Quentin dropped his fork, wiped his mouth, and threw his napkin onto his plate. "Surely my situation is more pressing."
"Perhaps Quentin, but Judith's business is remunerative. Yours, I'm doing simply for my own interest in these," he waved his hand, "compelling phenomena," he concluded.
Quentin stood and paced away from the table, "Evan, the full moon is only a week away." His voice trembled with fear and urgency.
"I know, Quentin. I know. I plan to be back in time to cast the spell of the pentagram."
"Evan, last time, I …"
Evan concluded soberly, "I know."
Judith was waiting for Dirk in the Collinwood study, as darkness set in. She had slipped a note under his door asking him to meet her there after servants' dinner. The note told him that she had important business to discuss.
Some would mistake the young man's obsequious attention to her as infatuation. But Judith recognized it for what it was—an infatuation with power and status. Every time she favored him with a compliment or kind word, she gave him hope. Each time she dressed him down, or reminded him of his place, she knew she fed his resentment. It had always been a fine line to tread, as it always was with one's servants. But now, given what he knew about her family—the death of her sister-in-law at the hands of her brother—she knew she needed to take steps to ensure his loyalty, or at least, his silence.
When the young groundskeeper arrived, he had clearly taken a few moments to smarten himself up. His boots were clean and his hair was brushed. His still-healing arm hung loose at his side, as though moving it with purpose wasn't worth the effort.
Judith invited him to sit—something she never did. He was taken aback, and stood awkwardly for a moment contemplating her invitation. Then he lowered himself into the chair, sitting bolt upright lest he seem more comfortable than she intended.
She began, "I see you're still favoring the arm."
He looked down at the arm hanging limply in his lap. "I wish it would favor me from time-to-time," he said sadly. "But Dr. Woodard says I'm lucky just the same. He says if the blade had nicked the bone, there's a good chance I'd have blood poisoning. I remind myself of that when it throbs with pain, or is too stiff to move."
Judith noted no hint of bitterness as he said this, but she knew it must not be far beneath the surface. "I've been remiss in not having this conversation sooner. I should have realized sooner how difficult the work must be for you, or perhaps acknowledged it sooner is more to the point. I can see how difficult it must be for you to do your job now."
With Beth's dismissal in mind, he said, "I can still work, Miss Collins."
"I know you can, Dirk. But I'm sure there are things that would be easier to manage, if … well, what I am thinking is, what if you had a man to work under you? Perhaps, one of the young men from Collinsport that helped you after the storm?"
"Then, what would I do?"
"You'd be more of the steward. Running the estate has been more than a handful, especially with Edward so often away. I could use your help managing the property, the stable and livery, and a number of the cottages and houses on the property have fallen into disrepair. It would be your responsibility to see to all of these things."
"I see," he said.
"If you need time to consider," she began.
"No. There's no need. I want to stay on here, and I appreciate the help," was his response.
"And I appreciate your loyalty. Some would have tried to turn the situation to their advantage."
"You mean Beth?" he said almost involuntarily.
"Yes, and now she's to settle in Bangor. I had hoped she'd go to Boston or New York, anywhere to get a fresh start, but I believe she still has hope of my brother's attention." She put a hand to her mouth. "I fear I've said too much," she said disingenuously. Then she resumed her mistress of the manor mien. "The first thing I'd like you to attend to as steward is renovating the groundskeeper's cottage. It's long overdue for attention. When it's done, it will be your home, if you like."
The young man brightened. So much so, Judith worried that the poison she tried to introduce into his fledgling relationship with Beth might be overlooked. "Thank you, Miss Collins." Were there tears in the young man's eyes? Was it merely a moment of vulnerability, or had she touched something deeper in him? Only time would tell.
Two days later, Beth stood on the doorstep of the house that was once her home—the Great House at Collinwood. She was no longer relegated to entering through the servants' entrance. She now walked right up to the front door, and waited for someone to admit her, as she had done for others most of her life. She allowed herself a moment to feel triumphant. She had gone toe-to-toe with Judith Collins, and today she would walk away with a bank draft to finance her dreams, and a concession that would enable her to see the child and be a part of his life, if she chose to be.
Several moments after she knocked, Elsie opened the door to her. It was now late afternoon. She had intended to arrive earlier in the day, but the more she thought about it, the more it suited her to have Judith wait for her. So she had taken her time, finally arriving late.
It was to be her final visit. She would take the bank draft and never return to Collinwood. So she waited while Elsie went to announce her arrival to Judith. The sound of voices in the drawing room drew her towards its doors. She paused and listened. Nora was complaining as usual.
"It's not fair," Nora was saying.
And Jamison was being his typical self as well. "You only say that because you never win."
"That's because it's two against one. Uncle Quentin always helps you."
Rachel's voice broke into their bickering. "That's enough you two. No one is helping anyone."
"What if I help you, Nora?" It was Quentin who spoke, and Beth felt flushed in spite of herself.
"That's still not fair," Nora said.
"Well, what if I help you and Miss Drummond helps Jamison? Is that fair?" her uncle asked.
"Ahem," Judith cleared her throat loudly to pull Beth's attention away from the drawing room. Beth's cheeks colored like a schoolgirl caught misbehaving. "I'll see you in the study now," Judith announced with characteristic imperiousness.
Beth was surprised by how quickly their transaction was completed after all of the back and forth negotiations with Evan Handley. Judith had led her to the study. She sat and Judith handed her an envelope containing the bank draft.
After so many years as a member of the Collins household, it came to an end with finality in a matter of moments. Judith punctuated it by reminding Beth that the payment marked the end of their acquaintance. "There will be no more money forthcoming—I want that clearly understood," Judith told her.
"That suits me as well," Beth responded with as much dignity as she could muster, even as she accepted her ill-gotten gains. She left the study, crossed the foyer, and left Collinwood for the final time.
Just outside the door of the Great House, she saw Dirk coming toward her up the lane that led to the servants' entrance. He fixed her with his eyes, smiled, and waved. She returned his wave in acknowledgement, but her eyes were cold and her face impassive.
"Elsie told us you were here," he began as he approached her.
"Then she has a lot to learn," was Beth's curt reply. She continued toward the drive, as Dirk fell into step beside her.
"May I walk you to the Collinsport road? It'll be dark soon, and I wish I could walk you back to town, but Miss Collins …"
"I'm not heading back to town," Beth told him.
"Oh, where are heading then?" Dirk's face was a mixture of wounded pride and anger. "Maybe to meet Quentin Collins?"
Beth stopped, and turned to him, "I guess you think because people say we're stepping out together that you have the right to be jealous. Well, think again, Dirk. For the first time in my life, I don't have to answer to anyone—not my father, not Judith Collins, and certainly not you. Make no mistake, I enjoy your company well enough, but not enough to be told what to do." She paused.
"I'm sorry, Beth. I didn't mean to …"
"But you did. And if you must know, no I'm not going to meet Quentin, but if I were it would be no concern of yours. I want to walk the grounds of Collinwood one last time, because I don't intend to come back."
"Then at least let me walk with you," he said sheepishly.
"No, thank you."
"May I come to see you tomorrow?" he asked.
"Dirk, let me see if I can make you understand. I don't want to see you tomorrow. In fact, I don't want to see you anymore." She was angry but restrained. "I'm moving to Bangor. And when I do, I'm leaving Collinwood and Collinsport behind, including you."
"Then why aren't you going to Boston or New York, where you can really leave Collinwood behind? Is it because Quentin will still be nearby?" Dirk shook his head. "Miss Judith was right."
"I should have known." Beth shot back, openly angry now. "As this will be the last time I speak to you, let me be clear, I'm done with the Collins family, including Quentin, the same way I'm done with you. My reasons for settling in Bangor are just that—my reasons. I no longer have to explain myself to Judith, or Quentin, or you. I'm my own person now. You should try it some time, but I think secretly you enjoy being Judith's lapdog. What's more, it suits you." With that, she stomped down the lane, and turned onto a path through the woods, leaving Dirk shaking with anger and shattered pride.
Barnabas Collins felt unmoored from the purpose that brought him to 1897; he felt unmoored from time itself. He had come to 1897 to help his friend and protégé in 1968. He had come without a plan; he had come not knowing what to expect or what he would find. He had turned to Angelique when all other options had failed him, but in her inimical style, she had helped him only so far. Now he was marooned in another time.
He rose this evening, as he did every evening, to be greeted by the dull, useless Sandor, and his hostile, grieving wife, Magda. He missed his true friend Julia Hoffman, more than ever. If Julia were there, she would help him think through this puzzle. In his own time, he often took her for granted—sometimes to the point of abusing their friendship. While he had passion for a task, Julia brought rationality to it.
He had tried to approach it, as he believed Julia would. He knew that the curse had been triggered, because all of Collinsport buzzed with the tale of an animal attack on the Collinwood estate. The attack had claimed the life an innocent schoolteacher. It was different, they said, from the ones in town—more violent and bloody. And of course, Barnabas knew what they did not, that he was responsible for the attacks in town, and the newly unleashed werewolf was responsible for the Collinwood attack. With the full moon but a few nights away, it was his chance to find out the identity of the creature, and its origin. Julia would remind him that he had the advantage, in that he knew how the curse worked and how to stop the creature. If Julia were there, she would help him focus on the task that brought there.
What he hadn't counted on when he'd come to this time, in addition to missing Julia, was how the bloodlust, coupled with loneliness, would cloud his judgment and cripple his reason. In 1968, having achieved a cure, he no longer woke each day with the pangs of hunger that only blood would satisfy. And being able to walk in the daylight had broadened his world. And now, back in 1897, once again a nightwalker, once again a predator, he was filled with loathing for his vampire-self.
When he first met the governess, Rachel Drummond, he'd fallen prey to a curse of a different sort. Her resemblance to his first love, Josette, had driven him to make advances toward her. She distracted him from his purpose for being in 1897 in the first place. She had also provided a distraction from the loneliness he felt in this time. In his own time of 1795, he had his family. In 1968, he had reconnected with the Collins family, and found friendship with Julia, and loyalty from Willie. Here, he had two unwilling, surly servants, and a tenuous connection to the Collins family of this era. He had yet to find his place among them.
But then when he saw Rachel and Quentin together, he had a realization. He was, and would always be, an outsider in this time. It was not intentional on their part—at least, not on hers. She had always been kind—kind, but firm in rejecting his advances. She had no particular predilection for the past. Indeed, Josette's beloved music box was far from being an antique in 1897. To Rachel, it must seem nothing more than old-fashioned. Quentin was not as kind. He saw Barnabas as an interloper at best, or worse as a rival for the attention, if not affection, of Rachel Drummond.
As he rose from his coffin this evening, he knew he would seek out blood as a salve to his unhappy mood. The blood would in the short term renew him. He would feel alive again, remember his purpose again, and reclaim his vampire nature. He would feel powerful once more. It would sustain him for a few days or a week, until the next time he rose feeling dissipated and alone.
Tonight was such a night. He knew he would find himself searching the town that was now alert to the presence of a predator in its midst. Only the most desperate sorts now walked its streets after dark. Yet, he always found one. There was always one desperate enough, or inebriated enough, or careless enough. He didn't need the violence employed by a werewolf. He stripped his victims of their will, and they went willing with him—to a dark corner of the docks, or a narrow lane than ran parallel to the town's main street. There were dark corners and recesses aplenty if one truly needed one.
The old Barnabas, he told himself, would by now have sought such a fate for Rachel—robbing her of her will, supplanting the things that made her uniquely Rachel with those of another. But knowing what he knew now, he would not. Having lived as a human again, he wanted human love and genuine affection. Having her would mean nothing, if she did not come to him willingly. So instead, he would seek something lesser tonight.
Taking his caped coat, and wolf-head cane, he bade his servants goodnight. Magda could not be bothered to respond, but the ever guilt-ridden Sandor tried to persuade him not to go. He pleaded with the vampire not to go into town tonight—to stay in or go to Collinwood instead. Magda mocked him, saying, "Let him go. What do we care for the pathetic soul he will take tonight? No one gave a care for Jehna, eh?"
And so, Barnabas left the Old House, and set out through the woods toward Collinsport. A nearly full moon provided ample illumination in the woods. He enjoyed nighttime strolls. They were one of the few pleasures that transcended his nature whether human or vampire. He could have employed the expediency of becoming a bat, and arrived much sooner, but he loved the woods at night. Tonight he knew he would find solace in the rhythm of the sea, the crash of waves on the rocks, and the keening of seabirds. So he headed down a path that led toward the bluffs just beyond the woods, and ultimately to Widows' Hill. Here was the perfect backdrop for his morose soul, for here it was that his own Josette met her fate.
Even without the heightened senses of the bat, he realized he was not alone. There was a figure just beyond the boundary of the woods, moving quickly down the path toward Widows' Hill. If he quickened his pace, he could easily overtake her. Indeed, from the silhouette he knew it to be a woman. Given everything, why would a woman be here now after sunset?
He wanted to believe that his object in pursuing her was to ensure that she, however foolish she may be, was safely escorted back to town. He appealed to his better nature to make it so.
As his pace quickened, his footfall became louder. Now, she became aware of his presence and quickened her pace. Soon she was clear of the woods on the path that skirted the bluffs. By the time he was poised to overtake her, she would be at the top of that infamous bluff. Now she turned and glanced back over her shoulder. He saw blond hair reflected in the moonlight. Angelique, he thought. But why would she run—perhaps as a taunt.
Transforming into a bat, he made up the ground very quickly, and arrived within a few yards of her. "Angelique?" he cried out above the roar of the waves. Now the woman stopped and turned to face him. "Miss Chavez?"
"Mr. Collins. You gave me such a fright."
"It's no wonder. What are you doing in the woods alone at night?"
Beth recovered herself, and said aloud though mostly to herself, "I shouldn't have panicked. The full moon is still a day or two away."
"What? What did you say?"
"Nothing. I don't know why I said that."
He reached for her suddenly, grabbing her by the arm. In the process, her small handbag tumbled to the ground. "What did you mean?" His eyes bored into hers. But now, even as he was so close to finding the answer, the bloodlust reared up and took him.
"The wolf," she began weakly, but his fangs were already piercing the soft flesh of her neck. He meant only to take enough to secure her in his thrall, but now he found it impossible to stop. He hungrily attacked the vein that pulsed in her neck. He fed and fed and fed, until he felt his soul might finally be replenished. He lost himself completely, lost sight of everything except the taste of blood and the nourishment it provided. When he felt completely sated, he released her. Like the many others who met this fate, her eyes were blank. She rocked backward on her heels, staggered, and fell to the rocks below.
