Collinwood 1897
Daybreak at the Great House at Collinwood brings light but not illumination. For the night led one young woman to a cruel fate, and the morning once again brings darkness to the doorstep of the ill-fated Collins family.
Quentin was the first of the household to be up and dressed. It was an unheard of turn of events. Not long after the sun rose, he dressed and went to use the only telephone in the house in the drawing room. He tapped on the receiver and asked to be connected to Evan Handley. He waited for what seemed a very long time, but was in fact only a few moments. It was Evan's housekeeper who finally answered, not the man himself. The attorney was still away in New York on business. With the full moon later that day, it was a blow. But it was to be only the first blow that day.
Quentin slammed down the handset much harder than he'd intended. "Good heavens, Quentin. What could be wrong so early in the morning?" came Judith's voice from behind him.
"I've been waiting to hear from Evan on a business matter. I've just learned that he's in New York and not expected back today."
Judith eyed him narrowly, but left unspoken her curiosity about his business affairs with Evan. Instead she said, "Well it must be important indeed for you to be up at this hour."
"Clearly," he murmured. For a moment, his mind was distracted, but he rallied enough to ask, "And you? This is early even for you, my dear sister."
"I had an unsettled night, and woke before the sun was up. I decided I might as well get on with the day."
"I'll let O'Neill know that breakfast will be early today," he told her with more amiability than he felt.
"There's no need. I've already spoken to her. It should ready in the dining room by now."
They ate in companionable silence, which was odd between the two. Quentin's mind was fully occupied with the coming full moon. He had counted on Evan's return. Even if he returned without hope of a cure, he could cast the spell of the pentagram, and together they could hope that it would contain the beast once again.
But now that he knew Evan would not return by moonrise, growing depression was setting in. He looked at what was ahead in his life. Month after month, full moon after full moon, he would be at the mercy of others, and worse, at the mercy of the beast. How many times would the beast escape containment? How many more mornings would he wake to find himself covered blood? How many more times would he have to hear reports of the beast's victims? And what if there was no cure? What if months went by, years went by, and the cure eluded him? What then?
Elsie interrupted their breakfast. She gave a short knock before entering the dining room. "I'm sorry to disturb you," she began in her thin, unassuming voice. "The sheriff is in the foyer, Miss Collins. He'd like a word with you—and Mr. Collins," she added.
"Did he say what he wants?" Judith asked, already knowing the answer.
"No, Miss—only that it's important."
Judith was already on her feet. Wiping her mouth, she tossed her napkin onto the table, and waited as Quentin gulped down the remainder of his coffee.
Together they made their way back to the foyer, just outside of the drawing room. There they found the sheriff waiting with an air of impatience. He removed his hat the moment he saw her approach. He knew that deference was due to the benefactress whose family gave its name to the town that employed him.
"Miss Collins. Mr. Collins. May I have a private word with you?"
"Of course, Sheriff. Please come into the drawing room."
He followed her in, while Quentin closed the doors behind them. Judith offered the sheriff a seat in the armchair; the siblings sat side-by-side on the davenport.
"I'll come straight to the reason for my visit. Beth Chavez was found dead this morning. One of the boats going out this morning saw a body on the rocks below Widows' Hill. They came back into port to report it."
Quentin's face drained of color, but Judith maintained her countenance and asked, "Are you sure it's Beth?"
"Aye. I found her bag at the top of bluff. This was in it." The sheriff reached into his coat pocket and produced an envelope that Judith recognized at once. He opened it and drew out the bank draft. "It's a bank draft drawn on a Collins account."
Quentin looked at his sister. Her expression didn't change, but there was emotion in her voice. "It was seed money for a shop in Bangor. She planned to move there and start over. I can't believe she's dead. Do you know how it happened?"
Now the reality sunk in—Quentin went to the fireplace, and stood with his back to them.
"Most likely an accident, but with all of the strange goings on, I can't say for sure. You don't think she would …" He let the unasked question hang in the air.
"No, I don't," Judith told him firmly.
When Quentin turned back to face them, there were tears in his eyes, "She had no family. We'll take care of the burial."
"Of course we will," Judith added.
"I'm afraid we've not recovered her body yet. The descent is too steep and treacherous from above. It's possible we can hire a crew to try at low tide." The sheriff stood. "I'm sorry to bring you more bad news, Miss Collins."
"As I am to receive it, Sheriff. But I appreciate you coming personally to tell us." Judith, ever the lady of the manor, walked the sheriff to the door.
Once there, the sheriff asked, "Could you or Mr. Collins come into town later to take charge of the arrangements?"
"Under the circumstances, I'll come personally. Thank you for coming." Then she returned to her brother in the drawing room. Quentin had not moved, but the tears were gone and the color was returning to his face. "Are you alright? I know you had feelings for her."
"It's a shock, that's all. Beth knew this area as well as anyone. It's hard to believe she fell to her death accidentally."
"Are you suggesting she took her own life?"
"I'm not suggesting anything. I just," he spread his hands in a gesture of frustration, "I don't understand."
"Perhaps we never will. Widows' Hill has long been a place that kept its own secrets." She went on in a more pragmatic vein, "I'll gather the staff and inform them, and of course, break the news to Jamison and Nora. Then I'll go into Collinsport to coordinate the recovery and burial. There's no need for you to be involved."
"Thank you Judith. It's a more difficult day for me than you can imagine." His face was serious and calm. "I want you know that even though we're very different, and don't always see eye-to-eye on things, I love you." He went to her, and surprised her with a lingering hug. Then he released her and headed upstairs to his rooms, leaving a very confused Judith in his wake.
A pall was cast over the Great House as news of Beth's death was disseminated throughout the house. Elsie took it hard, openly weeping, and Dirk began pacing in nervous agitation even before Judith had finished delivering the news. He wanted to speak with her, to question her about the circumstances, but one look from her silenced him. He turned away and continued to pace.
Before heading upstairs to the schoolroom to speak with Rachel, Judith went to the study to compose a note to her brother Edward entreating him to return home. She knew he would be staying at his club in Boston; even if he'd found the female companionship he'd gone there to find, the club would be his base. She directed the brief letter there, and would post it when she went into town.
Then Judith headed upstairs to the schoolroom. She found Rachel there already hard at work, as she always was this time of day. Rachel rose early, washed and dressed. Then she woke the children, and while they washed and dressed, she prepared the day's lessons. When Jamison and Nora were ready, the three of them went down to breakfast. After breakfast, the day's lessons began.
Judith knocked briefly then entered to find Rachel sitting at the small teacher's desk at one end of the room. Rachel stood at once. She could tell from Judith's demeanor and the very fact of her being there at that hour that something was wrong.
Judith broke the news swiftly and without emotion or detail. By now, it was a well-rehearsed tale. Rachel resumed her seat with the shock of it. It was certainly not that she and Beth were close—they were not, far from it. But it was the notion that someone you saw day in and day out for so long was suddenly and irrevocably gone. She wanted to pepper Judith with questions about how and when it happened, but she knew it must be unwelcome at the moment. She knew too that before long the house, indeed the entire town would be abuzz with the details. Judith had said simply, that Beth had been found dead and it appeared to be an accident.
"I'll join you for breakfast, and break the news to Jamison and Nora then. I've no doubt that Jamison will be fine, but Nora is, well, sensitive." Judith was quiet for a moment, and Rachel waited while the older woman gathered her thoughts. "I have a favor to ask."
"Of course, Miss Collins. What can I do to help?"
"It's Quentin. He's behaving very strangely," Judith began. Rachel seemed poised to mention that he must be grieving, but Judith gestured there was more. "Even before we learned of Beth's death—Quentin was up and dressed before me this morning. He was trying to reach Evan Handley, and seemed very upset to learn that Evan is away. I want to respect his privacy, but …"
"How can I help?" Rachel asked.
"Will you look in on him later? I have to go into Collinsport and I'm likely to be there most of the day. I just want to be sure that he doesn't hole up in his apartment and drown his sorrows."
"Of course, Miss Collins, I'd be happy to, but what about the children?"
"I thought perhaps Elsie could stay with them. In truth, she's very upset about Beth's death. It's unlikely she'll get much work done anyway."
"That's an excellent idea. She's actually closer in age to Jamison than she is to any of the household staff. I'll set up some drawing, reading, and games, instead of their usual lessons."
"Thank you Rachel. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."
Breakfast had been an uninspired, dismal affair. The eggs were cold and rubbery; and the ham was dry. Even O'Neill's bread was singed at the edges.
Nora wept softly, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand from time to time. Rachel encouraged her to eat a bite or two, if only because she knew the child would be hungry later. In contrast, Jamison had peppered Judith with questions—many that Rachel herself would have liked to ask.
When did it happen? Where did it happen? Who found her? Did Judith think that she suffered much? Did Judith think Beth took her own life? Or was it really an accident? Jamison went on and on. In spite of her own curiosity, Rachel had asked him to stop, but it wasn't until Judith lost all patience. "That's enough, Jamison," she said in a voice that shocked them all. "You're making a difficult day worse." The boy looked shaken. His lips compressed into a thin line, and blinked back tears. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go into town and attend to the practical matters of her death." She stood, noisily pushing her chair back in the process, and left the dining room.
Rachel was left to soothe the upset Jamison, and calm Nora's tears. They returned to the schoolroom; all were uncharacteristically quiet. A short time later, Elsie joined them, and Rachel left the children in her charge while she went to the west wing to visit Quentin.
Rachel knocked and waited. She heard muffled movements within. She knocked again, "Mr. Collins?" Why the pretense, she asked herself. The house was quiet as a tomb; there was no one around to hear her. "Quentin, open the door please." The sounds were less muffled now, and she clearly heard him sigh. "I'm not leaving until you open the door—please."
The door opened a crack. Quentin stood behind it looking down at her. "What do you want? What are you doing here?"
"I just wanted to find out if you're alright." She knew better than to mention Judith.
"Well now you've seen, you can leave," his voice was rough.
And Rachel, perhaps as much in frustration as pent up emotion, started to cry, "It's a difficult day for everyone," she said. "I should be with Nora and Jamison, but instead I'm here worrying about a thoughtless, ungrateful …"
"Come in," he told her in a gruff voice as he opened the door and allowed her in.
Through the door to his bedroom, she could see his bedding was a jumble. He was in shirtsleeves, though it wasn't a warm day. And his jacket was draped over the back of one of the chairs in his sitting room. An open bottle of brandy stood on the table. Now that she was here, she was unsure what to say or do. He was a mess.
"You must have loved her very much," Rachel began.
"My dear Rachel, did you come here in hope of making me feel better?" he asked in a mocking voice. "It's true that I cared about Beth, and I'm sorry she's dead, but …" he paused and went to pour another drink.
"But, you're more upset that Evan Handley is away," she finished for him.
"How do you know …" he began. "Judith told you. You're here at her behest." His disappointment was palpable.
"I'm here because I thought you might need a friend. I can see I was wrong." As she turned to leave, she noticed a pistol on the mantelpiece. He followed her line of sight to where he'd hastily placed the gun. She moved toward it, but in a long, single stride, he was there. "What are you doing with that? Were you going to … " Concern was in her voice and on her face.
"Go Rachel. Go now!" his voice was emphatic.
"No. Why Quentin? Why? If it's not because of Beth, tell me why. Help me understand."
He began to break down. Tears came to his eyes. "I can't. I can't." He held the pistol in his hand. She approached him carefully, and gently placed her hands over his. He covered his eyes with his other hand, and began to cry. "I can't. I tried. All morning, I tried." She slipped the gun from his hand.
"Why would you do such a thing?" she asked softly.
He buried his face in his hands and turned away from her. She put the pistol in the pocket of her skirt. Its weight tugged the waistband down a bit.
"I tried. I tried to end it. But I failed. I'm a failure. Even at that, I'm a failure."
"I'm glad you failed, Quentin. What could possibly be that bad?"
"My dear sweet Rachel, you couldn't possibly understand."
"Then help me."
He was silent for a long time. He paced the length of the room as he decided what to tell her. At last he began, "Do you believe in the supernatural?"
"I don't know. What do you mean?"
"I mean do you believe that there are things … phenomena that cannot be explained by the laws of man or nature?"
She knew that the only way to induce him to continue was to agree. "Yes, I suppose so."
"I am such a thing," he started. "When the moon is full I become … this thing … a beast that walks like a man, but is an animal. I've been cursed."
"Cursed?" she was incredulous.
""I knew you wouldn't believe me."
"It's not that. It's just hard to comprehend." She felt the weight of the pistol in her pocket. He must believe it was true to have contemplated such drastic measures. Perhaps he was mad, but even so, his desperation was real. She looked him in the eyes, "Tell me everything."
"Magda put this curse on me," his voice quavered.
"But why? Why would she do such a thing?"
He gestured to her to sit. "Do you remember I told you I was once married?"
"Of course, but she died while you were abroad."
He hung his head. "It turns out she didn't die while I was away. She was here all along." Rachel's eyes widened, but she let him continue. "She went mad, quite insane. So Judith and Edward locked her away."
Rachel interrupted him, "In the tower room!"
"Yes. They all knew she was alive—Judith, Edward, Beth, even my grandmother—and they lied to me day after day—knowing she was alive and right here in the house."
"It was her in your room that night. She tried to kill you!"
"Yes. Afterward, they had her moved to a room in the basement."
"The basement? And she there's now?"
"No, she's dead—really dead—and by hand."
"Quentin, I …"
There were tears in his eyes. "It was an accident—a terrible accident, but Magda …"
"I don't understand. What does Magda have to do with it?"
"My wife, Jenny, unbeknownst to me was Magda's sister."
"So Jenny was a gypsy."
"Yes. And Magda doesn't care that I never meant to hurt Jenny, vengeance is their way. And she's right of course. Jenny would still be alive if it weren't for me. She would never have gone mad; she wouldn't have been locked away. It's my fault; it's all my fault. And I could accept the curse as punishment if..."
"If what?" She waited. When he said nothing, she said, "Tell me about the curse."
"On the night of the full moon," he began in a soft voice, "I transform. I become a beast—an animal. I'm no longer myself. In the morning when the sun rises, I don't remember anything—not where it's been, not what it's done." He covered his face with his hands. "It killed her," he whispered. "It killed her," he said firmly. "The schoolteacher—the beast escaped and killed her." He let his hands fall to the table with a thud. "There so much blood on my hands, Rachel—so much guilt on my conscience."
"This beast," she began tentatively.
He anticipated her question. "A wolf that walks like a man," he told her. He went on to tell her how Evan had contained the wolf with the spell of the pentagram, and how on the second night of the full moon the spell had failed, and the wolf escaped.
"So why did it work one night, but not the next?" she asked logically. "Does it work only once in a moon cycle? Or did Beth do something different from Evan?"
"I don't know," he cried. "And what does it matter?"
"So the spell of the pentagram uses magic to contain the beast?" she continued probing.
"Yes—black magic—the dark arts. You've probably heard that Evan and I share an interest in such things."
"Yes," she said truthfully, for she'd heard rumors of it among the household staff. "What if we try to contain it physically, instead of magically?"
"We?" he asked. His eyes searched hers.
"I can help. I have to. I'm not giving you the pistol back. So I think it's incumbent on me to help. And I know a place—a place where you'll be safe—where no one will find you and where the beast can't escape." She put her hand on his arm. "Let me help you."
"Rachel, I don't want to involve you in this, but I have nowhere else to turn, no one else to turn to."
"I'm already involved, Quentin. I care what happens to you."
He sighed, and considered. "What is this place?"
"I'll take you there later. Trust me," she said as she gently squeezed his arm.
Rachel returned to her room and hid the pistol under her mattress. Then she went to check on her young charges.
All the way to the schoolroom, Rachel worried about how best to help Quentin. Her mind worked through the situation. It wasn't a good one. It would take some time to lead him to the abandoned farm at the edge of the estate where she would hide him. She couldn't just send him there—he would need someone to secure the door. She could ask Elsie to look after the children, but what if Judith returned and found them gone. But there was more to consider. She needed to take him before the moon rose, and she'd have to return in the morning to free him. She knew how much he feared the full moon—enough to contemplate taking his own life. She knew too that she would have to take a big risk in order to help him.
Rachel returned to the schoolroom to find Jamison, Nora, and Elsie playing a made up game. Jamison seemed to be in charge, and the girls were going along with his instructions and giggling. All in all it seemed a welcome distraction from their collective grief.
Rachel's plan for the remainder of the day was to spend it with the children as she would any other day—lunch, followed by lessons, perhaps she'd read them a story rather than trying to teach that afternoon. This would give Elsie time to attend to the most visible household chores—making the beds, tidying bedrooms, and laying the firewood for the evening. Then Rachel would have to ask Elsie to stay with Nora and Jamison again, while she and Quentin slipped away. The morning would be easier. She would simply rise as early as possible, sneak out, and then return before being missed.
O'Neill had prepared a simple lunch for them—a hearty soup and her homemade bread. They ate it in silence, which was unusual to say the least when Jamison and Nora were present. Rachel's soup was practically untouched, and had gone cold when Elsie entered bringing a note for Rachel.
Rachel opened it and read: Rachel, I've decided to stay the night at the Collinsport Inn. The recovery and arrangements will take longer than expected, and I've no desire to make the trip twice in two days. I trust Jamison and Nora will be fine, but I must impose on you to keep an eye on my brother until I return. I thank you in advance for undertaking to do this, and of course, for your discretion. Judith Collins
It was welcome news. It would make what had to be done much easier—at least this time.
Rachel felt badly for Judith, recognizing how difficult it must be for a woman of her bearing and standing in the community to ask a member of her household staff for this type of help. Then again, she had relied heavily on Beth and Dirk to help with Jenny, and to keep her secret. Still, look how badly all of that turned out.
It was late afternoon by the time Rachel saw Quentin again. She had settled Nora and Jamison down to play games with Elsie in the library. Then she headed back to her own room to retrieve the pistol, put on sturdy walking boots, and get a shawl to protect her from the early evening chill. Finally she returned to Quentin's room. He was waiting anxiously, pacing his room until her arrival.
"I thought perhaps you'd changed your mind," he said upon seeing her.
"I just wanted to make sure Nora and Jamison were occupied."
"And Judith?"
"She's staying at the Inn tonight, which should make everything easier," she told him. "Shall we go?"
"Yes." He pointed to a carryall bag on the table. "Would you bring the bag when you come in the morning? Please."
"Of course. What's in it?"
"I don't have another pistol, if that's what you're worried about." She shot him a look that said she was not to be trifled with. "It's a clean shirt. I'm going to need it in the morning."
He led her down the back stairs that he had used so many times to bypass the Great House foyer and front door, to leave undetected. It was new to Rachel, but she made mental note of how it might be useful in the future. Together they made their way out the servants' entrance, and from there, into the woods along the backside of the house.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"You'll see. It's not far from here."
"The old Peabody farm?"
"Yes, I suppose so—not the farmhouse—the root cellar. It's perfect. You'll see."
Before long, the woods began to thin, and the farmhouse was visible in the clearing ahead. Rachel ran ahead; Quentin followed, looking around suspiciously, though he knew no one was about. Rachel opened the dilapidated gate of the rickety fence that bounded the farm. Quentin followed her through and then to the far side of the house.
The yard was a mess. It was strewn with leaves, straw, and broken tree branches. Quentin guessed that the recent storm had contributed to what its current state. Rachel headed straight to one of the piles of broken branches. She bent and pulled a few of them aside, to reveal the angled doors of the cellar.
"It's just as I left it," she said.
"How do you know about this place?"
"It's a long story, and I'll tell you about it some other time. But there isn't time now," she said with finality.
A metal bar was wedged beneath the handles of the doors. She pulled the bar out and set it to one side. There was a bolt to draw open as well. Then Quentin helped her as she opened to doors. The fading afternoon sunlight illuminated the cellar below. "It's really clever," she said. "Hold this rope." There was a thick rope attached to a ladder. He did as he was told, watching Rachel and wondering at her facility with the complicated entrance. There was a large metal hook. Once she unlatched it, he felt the weight of the ladder on the rope. "Let it out carefully. See," she said, "It lowers the ladder."
When he felt it touch the bottom, he turned around and led the way down the ladder. She followed a moment later, carefully gathering the folds of skirt, as though she did this everyday. "It's just the way I left it," she announced. It wasn't much—a narrow cot, with a thin, hard mattress, a small table, and a few shelves with a handful of provisions stacked on them. She went to the corner, and retrieved and lit a lantern. "This is it. When I leave, I'll draw the ladder up behind me, and lock and bolt the doors. It's perfect, isn't it?"
"The perfect cage," he said glumly.
"I'm sorry, Quentin." She suddenly realized how her excitement must sound to his ears.
"Don't be. You should go. The moon will rise any minute now. You're in danger." He took off his jacket and handed it to her. "Take this please."
She took his jacket and slipped it on. It would be easier to ascend the ladder with fewer things to carry. "I'll be back in the morning," she told him, taking the lantern from him. She turned to leave, but then turned back and gave him a brief hug. "You'll be alright." She gathered her skirt again, and carefully climbed the ladder—one hand on the ladder, the lantern in the other.
Once at the top, she set the lantern to one side, found the rope and pulled the ladder up behind her. She secured it with the hook. Next, she closed the first door. Then she stooped low, looking through the open one, peering between the rungs of the ladder to the floor of the cellar below.
"Go Rachel. Go! Please!" His voice sounded distorted. He made a terrible noise. "I don't want you to see me like this."
Still she stayed. She had to know whether his tale was true or whether he was simply a murderous madman who believed he transformed into a beast under the full moon. There was only one way to be sure.
He urged her one last time to leave, but the very word "Go!" became a guttural growl. His eyes glowed yellow in the semi-darkness. She gasped aloud at the rapidity with which he changed from a handsome young man into a fearsome, snarling wolf. His face sprouted hair and his hands grew claws. It leaped toward the ladder wildly without thought or intention other than to reach her. She was glad now that she'd taken the precaution of removing the lantern, for surely the creature below would have no need of it, and might have set fire to the cellar if left to its own devices.
She slammed the second door shut, and drove the bolt home. She took the metal bar and threaded it through the door handles.
It … he would be safe until morning. She pulled the tree branches in place to cover the doors. She knew she had to get back as quickly as she could, but all the way back to the Great House her mind was filled with images of the beast, and sadness for the man it overtook each time the moon waxed full.
