Disclaimer: Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production and not mine
CHAPTER 9: A STRANGER AT COLLINWOOD
The clock on the nightstand chimed in three o'clock, as the wee hour gloomily filtered through the shut French doors in Maggie's bedroom.
The golden anti-witch medallion was wrapped securely around the bedpost. Maggie and Willie slept uneasily under its protection.
Maggie frantically tossed her head from side to side on the fluff pillow, as she laid on her back with her eyes tightly shut. She was hopelessly lost in thick curtains of dreary blackness. As inky blurs gradually shifted around her, Maggie found herself in her slippers and house robe.
She was lost in the woods, which was cloaked in heavy curtains of thick mist. The thin towering trees were drained of life, with no leaves clinging to their sharp sinister branches. The sky was obscured by inky black blurs, and the hardened earth was just as obscured by the shifting mist.
Maggie trailed along the misty path rather instinctively. She felt she had been here before.
When she came upon a clearing, she spotted the terrifying sight of a polished coffin waiting for her through the mist with its lid shut. This confirmed Maggie's assumption. She'd been here before. In a dream. Rather a nightmare.
That was when Barnabas stalked her before he put her under his thrall and held her captive at the Old House. At the time, it was the most horrible nightmare Maggie ever suffered through. In it, she came upon an image of herself lying dead in a coffin. Then a leering skull flashily appeared in her own hands, screaming wildly with bright glowing eye sockets.
Since then, Maggie experienced far more terrifying nightmares. Ones in the waking realm no less. But she was bewildered as to why she was having this reoccurring one in her slumber.
Cautiously, with trembling legs, Maggie stepped up to the shut coffin through the mist. As she came closer, the coffin's lid creaked wide open, as though it somehow sensed her approaching presence.
Maggie reluctantly glanced down into the coffin, and her heart instantly shattered.
Willie's pale and lifeless form rested on the silk red lining of the coffin. His eyes were shut, and his facial expression wore sorrow and sadness.
Heavy tears spilled from Maggie's long lashes. Her heart further broke as she examined the sad look on Willie's dead face.
Why was he so sad, even in death?
Through the mist, a dark figure smoothly creeped up behind her and came upon the coffin.
To Maggie's utter horror and disgust, it was Barnabas, garbed in his black cloak, and trailing with his ever present silver handled wolf-head cane. His black hair was as sleek as ever, and his dark eyes were cold and soulless. Completely devoid of human compassion. He gazed down at Willie's lifeless body with no emotion on his face and in total indifference.
That made Maggie want to lash out at him. Barnabas had always treated Willie like garbage. She could never forget the painful sight of the severe marks bruising Willie's body. Something he'd received from the brutal beatings Barnabas inflicted on him with that damn cane. Maggie would like nothing more than to snatch that despised object and beat Barnabas mercilessly with it. Like how Willie attempted to on the night when his master tried to turn her into a vampire bride. Maggie deeply wished she could split that cane in two and stake him in the heart.
But she found herself too afraid to attack him.
He shifted his dark gaze to her, causing her to freeze. Any desire to kill or even harm this creature was just not possible.
A morbid heartbeat pounded relentlessly through Maggie's senses, causing her to shield her head, and to wallow in great agony. She dropped her head to her knees. This was just how it was when she'd tried to stake Barnabas in his coffin one night and failed. His mental control was just too powerful.
Once the unbearable pounding subsided, Maggie gazed up at the vampire, who cast her a hardened look.
"Poor, Willie," he remarked silkily. "In life and in death, comfort, warmth, and happiness has always eluded him."
Maggie glared at him darkly, but was also a little puzzled by his claim.
Before she could further react, that grotesque dismembered skull appeared in her hands, just like in the previous nightmare. It cackled and screamed wildly with a piercing light blasting out of its eye sockets.
Maggie shot up through her covers in her bed, shrieking loudly. Her forehead was drenched in a cold sweat.
This frantic motion caused Willie's sleeping form to slip off the small bed and land on the floor with a loud thud. That comically snapped him awake.
"Wha-Wha!"
He shot up from the floor, startled. He looked up at Maggie's pale trembling form sitting up in her small bed.
"Maggie," he murmured groggily with blurry eyes. "Is there somethin' the matter?"
Maggie gazed down to the floor, her heart feeling tremendously relieved. She was back in her bedroom, and Willie was not lying dead in a coffin.
"Willie." She exhaled heavily.
A little clumsily, Willie stumbled up to his feet. He instinctively knew what was the matter with her.
"It's all right, Maggie."
He gently climbed back into bed and soothed her. They both leaned back against the headboard, warmly wrapped in each other's arms. Willie tenderly threaded his fingers through her messy tossled hair.
"It's all over, Maggie. Ya back here with me now."
"Yes," Maggie whispered softly, resting her head on his chest.
The image of him lying dead in that coffin burned inside her mind. But the thumping of his natural heartbeat pounded gently beneath her ear. It was incredibly comforting.
"D'you wanna talk 'bout it?" Willie suggested to her, referring to her nightmare.
He continued to thread his fingers through her messy hair.
"Not really," Maggie admitted lowly.
The thumping of his heartbeat was still comforting to her.
"Yeah," Willie murmured hauntingly. "The nightmares are all the same. They never stop."
Maggie took in his words. She, of course, never experienced Willie's nightmares. But she knew of his terrifying dream world very vividly. His shaky and trembling words still haunted her as she recalled how he recounted them to her. Nightmares of how he greedily and foolishly cracked open a coffin that he'd unshackled from its chains, and instantly had his very breath choked out of him. His wrist was dominatingly bitten and his veins were injected with monstrous venom. Then his will was taken from him and he was forced to do unspeakable acts. Acts like reluctantly participating in her kidnapping.
He didn't like expressing to her the nightmares of the brutalized bodies he had to dispose of. Body after body of some helpless girl with bleeding bite marks on her neck and a blank look in her glassy eyes. Willie told her he learned later on to close those blank eyes. He hoped that would help give the girl some peace, but he didn't really believe that.
Maggie thought of her own nightmare and how it was different from all the others. Usually, she dreamt of wearing Josette's antique wedding gown and veil, and getting overpowered and bitten by Barnabas. This time, however, she stumbled upon Willie's dead body. Barnabas' torturous words of how comfort, warmth, and happiness had eluded Willie in life and death made Maggie's heart ache. She tried feebly to stop from sobbing, but Willie dutifully soothed her.
"Shhh, it's okay, Maggie."
She glanced up at him silently with wet puffy eyes. She knew it was only a dream, and hopefully it held no basis in reality. But why was comfort, warmth, and happiness denied to Willie?
She knew that both Barnabas and the life he led before coming to Collinsport likely played a role in that. But he was beginning to live a life with her. Someone he harbored intense and obvious feelings for.
But she was too traumatized by Barnabas to give him a proper relationship. Maggie sadly wondered if she was also responsible for Willie dying miserably in her terrible dream.
"You really surprised me at the Blue Whale tonight, Willie," she said to him suddenly.
"Oh, I only bought ya a drink." Willie shrugged nonchalantly, recalling proudly how he successfully re-created their first meeting.
"No, I mean when you told Burke and Vicki that you're going to build us a cottage," Maggie reminded him.
Willie glanced down at her with a shade of rejection shadowing his eyes.
"Ya don't want that, dontcha?" He dropped his head dejectedly. "I-I understand."
The sadness in his voice shattered her.
"No, Willie, it is what I want." Maggie tenderly grasped his chin and tilted up his head. "Someday soon, Barnabas will stop haunting us. We're going to build a life together. I-I love you, Willie. I really do."
Willie's eyes widened over her words. He was completely speechless.
"Are you going to respond to that, Willie?" Maggie said expectantly, grinning impishly.
He didn't seem accustomed to being told he was loved. The look of shock on his face was completely comical but also spoke volumes.
"Oh, I-I r-really l-love y-you, Maggie."
Willie pulled her into a gentle kiss. The sweetness of his mouth on hers engulfed her, and he let out a very deep moan. A throaty moan releasing tremendous yearning.
Reluctantly he withdrew his lips from hers, and they wrapped each other in their arms again. Maggie smiled warmly over his shoulder, feeling Willie's love and passion welling up inside her. She found herself growing determined to live the quiet peaceful life she always wanted, and sharing it with the man who did so much for her. She wanted to go beyond in proving that nightmare wrong. Willie was going to die a happy and fulfilled man. He was going to be loved.
But they both still needed to overcome their traumas. Maggie was still not keen on the idea of marriage.
Unbeknownst to the both of them, Sam quietly observed them outside Maggie's cracked bedroom door.
He rushed out of bed when some commotion from his daughter's bedroom startled him awake. When he got to her door, he stumbled onto this scene. He quietly creaked the door shut to leave them alone, and to be young and in love. He still didn't like seeing them sharing a bed together. He may scold them for this later. But he also witnessed two young people spilling their feelings for each other, and making a major decision to build their lives together.
On that level, Sam knew he had no choice but to relent. Willie's love for his daughter was here to stay.
Josette breezily floated her way through the dark winter woods with her long ghostly gown and veil billowing gracefully behind her. Thick mist cloaked her surroundings, along with the mounting snow. A chilly breeze tinged with her perfume rustled the snow-covered tree branches. The ghost lady smiled proudly to herself.
She just paid a rather secretive visit to the Evans cottage. She was very pleased to witness much progress developing in Willie and Maggie's courtship. She hoped in a few days time they would be betrothed. That would be a happy distraction from Angelique's relentless conquest at Collinwood.
Before the elegant ghost lady could progress on to the grounds of the great estate, she was abruptly halted. Another ghost materialized in her way, harboring an energy of seriousness and determination.
It was the wispy form of Millicent, with her shawl and golden ringlets billowing daintily in the icy breeze.
"May I be granted an audience with you, Josette?" she requested submissively, bowing her head. "It is of the up most importance."
"You may speak with me at the Old House," Josette answered urgently. "I must return there."
"Oh, but we must speak here," Millicent persisted. "I don't want cousin Joshua and darling Daniel to overhear."
"It is about Joe Haskell." Josette nodded knowingly with a smirk.
Millicent giggled lightly. Josette took that to be an answer.
"Millicent, he is under Angelique's thrall," Josette said soberly.
"He is well aware," Millicent exclaimed, trying to sound important. "He knows his will is not of his own. He wants me to help him. I need you to teach me how."
"How do you mean?" Josette said perplexed.
"I wanted to make him my servant in order to pry him away from the witch," explained Millicent in a lady-like manner. "But when I possessed his lady companion in order for him to take me to New York, he shouted and screamed at me to release her. Then, of course, Lt. Forbes couldn't resist appearing for the purpose of tormenting us."
"Is that what all the commotion was about when you possessed one of the family descendents?" Josette highly raised her eyebrows behind her lacy veil.
"I beg of you, Josette," Millicent pleaded. "Please teach me how to protect Joe from the witch."
"Joe?" Josette tilted her head, scandalized that Millicent would refer to him in such an informal manner.
"Yes, he insist to be addressed as Joe," Millicent said girlishly. "So please tell me how I can place him under my thrall."
"You still wish for him to be your servant?" Josette was a little flabbergasted.
"Well, of course," Millicent said logically. "It may be the only way to save him from the witch."
"That might not be entirely so," said Josette.
Millicent looked at her questioningly.
"When I connected with Willie Loomis' mind," Josette explained, "he was still deeply under Barnabas' thrall. Even though he invited me into his consciousness, and allowed me to influence him to help Maggie Evans, he still couldn't fully betray Barnabas."
"But you helped them," Millicent countered. "Barnabas is not hurting them anymore."
"Barnabas still holds great power over them," Josette said seriously. "And I hold great power over Barnabas. With this influence, I can protect Willie Loomis and Maggie Evans, as well as the rest of Collinsport. However, even the devil himself fails to control the witch. If you wish to protect Mr. Haskell, then continue to support your family's campaign to eradicate the woman and the curse that torments us all, both living and dead."
"But he wants me to help him!" Millicent cried stubbornly, balling her fists hysterically.
"You cannot influence the witch as I do with Barnabas," Josette said rationally. "We need to banish Angelique. Once we accomplish that, Joe Haskell, Roger Collins, and any other soul she might have poisoned will be free of her. I believe this is the right way to help them. And I want you out of harm's way, Millicent. Angelique wields the power to control and harm ghosts. She raised Jeremiah from his rest against his will, and banished me from the Great House. We all love you, and you are a member of this family. We don't want to see you hurt, either by Joe Haskell or by Angelique."
With that finality in her voice, Josette drifted away in an icy chill, leaving Millicent alone in the snowy woods shrouded by mist and shadowy trees.
The fragile ghost cried out in frustration, her despairing wail echoing through the dark air.
"You know how to combat the witch, Millicent."
The wispy ghost whirled around, her shawl and blonde ringlets blowing behind her. Her former husband materialized in front of her, garbed in his ever blue Navy uniform and billowing cape. He wore a pompous expression on his face.
"I know you agree with me," he said smugly. "The Reverend Trask is the only one daring enough to truly destroy the witch. He can free your friend from her clutches."
Millicent shook her head disdainfully with a heavy look veiling her eyes.
"Oh, Nathan, why must you always be so conceited and arrogant."
Up at Collinwood, Roger laid sound asleep on his bed in his bedroom, while his nefarious dark-haired wife observed her blonde wicked countenance in her portrait safely secure in its easel.
She was draped in a black silk robe, and had lit several candles throughout the bedroom, bathing her gothic and domestic surroundings in shadowy and flickering light.
As she watched her husband sleep on their bed, Cassandra knew he was dreaming. Before he retired for the evening, Cassandra put him under her trance with the small flame of his golden cigarette lighter. She told him that Willie Loomis and Maggie Evans were responsible for stealing their portrait and hiding it from everyone before it was found.
Cassandra ordered him to have them dismissed from their duties at Collinwood.
Under the witch's thrall, Roger unquestioningly believed his wife's story, and was distraught that Willie and Maggie would attempt to rob them, and might endeavor to do so again. Roger, after all, honestly thought Willie had stolen the portrait. He would have no qualms about casting those two disrespectful ingrates out of the Great House.
Afterward, Cassandra ordered him to go to bed, and he was now happily dreaming of getting rid of Willie and Maggie.
Pleased, Cassandra darted her gaze back to her portrait. Her vibrant golden-haired counterpart remained safe in her world of intense bold colors.
Cassandra snickered quietly to herself, struggling to withhold a robust insidious cackle.
"Oh, Barnabas," she giggled lightly, her big blue eyes growing wider. "You can't be rid of me. And you never shall. You will never escape me. Ever. All the servants in the world can't save you from me."
Outside the bedroom window, the ghost of Ben Stokes silently blended into the gothic surroundings of the Great House. It was always something that came naturally for a Collins servant. So much so, the witch failed to detect his hidden presence. He had the witch's portrait locked within his sights.
Even though he had to wait in death to finally extract his revenge against the harlot who enslaved him, he planned to relish every second of it. Most of all, he wouldn't fail the Collins family. He intended to loyally serve Mr. Barnabas and Ms. Josette.
Angelique Bouchard's true self shall be exposed in her portrait.
Another gray foggy morning shifted around Collinsport as the thick mist drifted throughout the fishing village.
Over at the Evans cottage on its own little hill by the sea, Willie and Maggie were enjoying a nice peaceful morning, in spite of the gloomy weather fogging up the cottage windows.
Maggie lounged comfortably on the couch in the living room, wearing a blue house dress she could do chores in, with the golden medallion tucked safely away in her bosom. She sipped her morning coffee and admired the Christmas tree, while Sam sat on the armchair listening to the weather report on the somewhat static radio.
The weatherman reported that there was a high chance of a snowfall in the evening.
That dismal report didn't damper Maggie's good mood. She quietly observed Willie sitting on his knees on the floor, polishing the already clean coffee table.
He cast her a sideways glance as a sly grin formed on his lips, remembering what they told each other in Maggie's bed, and the first kiss that followed. Maggie threw him her own playful grin.
None of this had gone unnoticed by the ever watchful Sam.
"You two seem awfully cozy this morning."
He hadn't conveniently forgotten what he had secretly witnessed in his daughter's bedroom several hours earlier.
Maggie gave her father a small grin. "Pop, Willie and I made a big decision about our future."
"Oh?" Sam lifted a brow.
"Yes," answered Maggie. "We're in love, pop."
"I gather." Sam nodded.
"I'm gonna build your daughter a cottage and shack up with her," Willie exclaimed obliviously from the floor.
Sam's eyes bulged. "Is that beatnik or hepcat slang translating into an actual proposal, Willie? Or do you intend for my daughter to be just your snuggle buddy forever?"
Willie nervously ran a hand through his sandy hair. What was it with Maggie's pop in honoring the frigid ways from his old master's time? And how could he possibly know what a hepcat is?
But, Sam had a dead serious look on his face. Clearly, Willie said something stupid and offensive. But Maggie thankfully intervened.
"Pop, I assure you that Willie and I are completely devoted to each other. We've been through too much not to be."
"I know, darling..."
"He makes me happy, pop," Maggie cut him off softly. "Isn't that all that matters?"
Sam dropped his gaze to the floor.
"Yes," he muttered. "All I ever wanted was for you to be happy, Maggie. I told you that. If you two are truly happy, and feel you are right for each other, then you have my blessing."
Maggie smiled brightly. "Thanks pop."
"But if you two suddenly develop a positive feeling about marriage," said Sam hopefully, "at least give it a consideration."
"All right," Maggie agreed.
A light rapping came from the front door. Willie instantly jumped to his feet.
"I-I'll get it, Mr. Evans."
"That's Sam, Willie," he reminded irritably. "We discussed this."
Ignoring him, Willie stepped up to the front door and flung it open.
A recognizable portly old man with bushy gray hair and a matching beard greeted Willie with his eccentric presence. He wore a long black shabby coat, with black trousers, winter boots, and black leather gloves. A thin pair of round clear spectacles perched on top of the bridge of his nose. Willie thought he looked like a very important hobo.
"Oh, good morning, young fellow," he said in his cultured accent, eyeing Willie closely through his owlish spectacles. "Does Sam Evans reside here?"
"Oh, Victor." Sam got up from his armchair and welcomed the visitor at the front door. "I wouldn't have thought you'd be stopping by here."
"After what you told me about your artistic talents, I couldn't resist finding your home address so I could observe them for myself," said Fenn-Gibbon.
From her spot on the couch, Maggie recognized the stranger. "Pop, is that the gentleman you and Dr. Woodard chatted with last night at the Blue Whale?"
"Yes, this is Victor Fenn-Gibbon," Sam exclaimed. "He just arrive in town."
"Yes, I do recall seeing you and this young man at the tavern last night," Fenn-Gibbon said to Maggie from the open door.
"Victor, please meet my daughter Maggie, and her boyfriend, Willie Loomis." Sam gestured toward the young couple.
"How do you do." Fenn-Gibbon stepped aside Willie at the entrance and entered the cottage.
Willie felt he did that somewhat unwarrantedly.
"May I take a look at your paintings, Sam?" Fenn-Gibbon asked politely.
"Go right ahead," Sam replied.
"Oh, charming Christmas tree you have there," Fenn-Gibbon randomly complemented.
"Thank you," replied Sam.
Willie shut the door and leaned against it with his arms firmly crossed over his chest and his shoulders squared.
Maggie got off the couch with her coffee mug in hand, and watched Fenn-Gibbon eagerly step up to her father's work area at the bay window.
"Would you like me to pour you a cup of coffee, Mr. Fenn-Gibbon?" Maggie offered courteously. "I practically lived and breathed the stuff when I was constantly pouring it at my old job as a waitress. I know a thing or two about coffee."
"No thank you, my dear," Fenn-Gibbon declined, distracted by the canvases. "I prefer drinking black tea in the morning."
Maggie dropped her gaze sheepishly to her warm coffee mug in hand. She was not used to seeing anyone decline the warm addictive brew, especially in the mornings.
"Oh, I see you mostly create landscapes." Fenn-Gibbon observed Sam's paintings critically, peering closely through his round spectacles.
"Yes," Sam muttered.
"Sam, it is rather a stunning coincidence for you to be living in this cottage," stated Fenn-Gibbon. "Have you ever heard of a man named Charles Delaware Tate by any chance?"
"I don't think that I have," admitted Sam.
"He was a local artist who used to live in this very cottage," Fenn-Gibbon explained. "He had a passion for creating art by capturing beauty on canvas. However, his artistic talents were mediocre at best, and no one ever much cared for his work. Even after his time."
"He wasn't exactly van Gogh, was he?" asked Sam.
"I'm afraid not." Fenn-Gibbon shook his head pityingly.
"I'm probably not that far off, either." Sam shrugged lightly.
"Don't say that, pop," Maggie chided impassionedly. "People from all over New England have expressed interest in your work."
Sam was going to respond to her, but Fenn-Gibbon spoke up again.
"I see you have done some portraits." He closely inspected a portrait of a woman with long dark locks.
"Yes, that is my wife," Sam explained. "She died when Maggie was a small child."
Fenn-Gibbon inspected a few more portraits, one of another woman with dark hair, and one of a grizzled old man sitting stiffly on a chair. He then turned his attention back to the artist. "Sam, would you do me the honor of painting me a portrait?"
"How much are you offering?" Sam inquired.
"One thousand dollars," answered Fenn-Gibbon.
Sam was taken quite by surprise. "I wasn't expecting that much."
"It is worth every cent," insisted Fenn-Gibbon.
"I'll say." Sam nodded, thoughtfully rubbing his furry chin. "Will this be a portrait of yourself?"
"No, I'm afraid I have to give you some specific instructions in regards to whom you will be creating for this particular portrait," said Fenn-Gibbon.
"Who is it?" Sam asked intrigued.
"A young man," exclaimed Fenn-Gibbon. "An extraordinary young man who lived not all that long ago but has been forgotten. That must be rectified. Together Sam Evans, you and I are going to make this forgotten man famous."
Maggie listened to his comments bewildered. She was not for certain what to make of this Victor Fenn-Gibbon.
Willie also listened to him rather wearily from the door, but also shiftily. A name like Barnabas Collins was one thing, but if there was one lesson he had learned as a con man prowling the streets, a name like Victor Fenn-Gibbon was obviously phony.
The mist drearily shifted around Collinwood up on the snowy and secluded Widows Hill. The miserable gray sky loomed in a threatening manner above the Great House.
David laid under his covers in bed in his dark and gloomy bedroom. He was still in his pajamas, and his voice was still scratchy and raw from his encounter with his stepmother who did something unexplainable to his throat. But David was not thinking about that. His attention was squarely on the antique candlestick telephone placed prominently on his desk.
He was strangely transfixed by it.
"David?" Sarah materialized at the end of his bed, her legs dangling over the edge.
"Hi, Sarah," David said in a raspy voice.
"Your voice is not better," Sarah observed worryingly.
"No." David gazed down at his covers. "Sarah, my stepmother is a witch, isn't she?"
"She is an evil person," Sarah proclaimed haughtily.
"No, I mean, a witch," David wheezed. "She has black magic. That is why she is so bad."
"I'm not allowed to tell you who she is, David," Sarah murmured.
"I thought so," David pitifully croaked. "You're not allowed to tell me all sorts of things. But I don't need you to tell me. I know what she is. She put my father under a spell and he's doing her bidding. And she did this to my voice."
Sarah gave David both a sympathetic and empathetic look, like she knew how he felt. David hadn't forgotten her claim that she knew what it was like when Cassandra attacked him.
Sarah shifted her attention to David's desk and gasped at what she saw.
"David! You were supposed to dispose of that telephone! Beth told you to!"
"Beth?" David cocked his head. "Is that the sad lady haunting the West Wing?"
"Yes," Sarah answered sternly, like she was lecturing her doll. "Now why haven't you disposed of it?"
"I don't know," David admitted with a shrug. "I keep waiting for Quentin to call me."
"But Beth and I don't want Quentin to call you!" Sarah cried frantically.
"I know, but he needs me," David's voice was barely audible. "And... I need him."
A loud ring resounded from the desk. The phantom telephone captured the two startled children's attention. David somehow knew it was going to rang again. He greatly anticipated it. But his bedroom door abruptly creaked open.
"David?" His governess stepped inside his bedroom, dressed in a long black skirt with a white sweater.
The antique telephone sat dead silent and unassuming on the desk. Sarah was nowhere in sight.
"David, you haven't come down for breakfast." Vicki stepped up to his bed with heavy concern clouding her eyes. She felt his clammy forehead. "Are you still feeling sick?"
"My voice is still sore," David answered numbly.
"Then you should stay in bed today," Vicki told him gently. "I'll have Mrs. Johnson cook you some eggs and toasts. I'll come by in a while to serve them to you. And then later, I'll give you some homework assignments for you to do in bed."
"Okay," David managed to utter.
Vicki turned away from him and headed toward the door.
"Vicki." The boy's cracked voice halted her in her tracks. Vicki looked over her shoulder to glance at her charge. "I'm so glad you and Burke are going to live here."
The deep emotion clogging his scratchy voice, combined with the longing in his soft brown eyes, broke Vicki's tender heart. The uncertainty of his new questionable stepmother, along with being more connected to Sarah than ever before, seemed to make him crave some smidgen of normalcy. Vicki doubted David had ever experienced normalcy in his short life, and she was highly uncertain if she and Burke could even provide that for him.
But she found herself growing determined of one thing.
"David, I'll always be here for you. No matter what."
"I hope so."
Vicki left him in bed and went out his door.
Out in the corridor, Vicki encountered a wandering Carolyn. She was dressed in a long black skirt with a soft pink sweater. Her silky blonde hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Everyone that was up at Collinwood that morning was surprised to see the young heiress out of bed in light of her bizarre episode.
"Carolyn, are you certain you can handle being out of bed?" Vicki asked her worryingly.
"All of that lying around is driving me stir crazy, Vicki," Carolyn said shortly. "I'm not feeling very weak anymore. I think what I had was more psychological than anything. I think that's been more of a problem for me since uncle Roger brought home his improv bride."
Vicki shifted her gaze down the corridor. To her horror, the bride in question stood a little dejected in a forest green dress.
Vicki hesitated. How much had Cassandra heard?
"How are you really feeling this morning, Carolyn?" Cassandra questioned pointedly with a hint of a hurt smile.
"Never better," Carolyn answered briskly, with a brazen look clearly reading she didn't care if Cassandra heard a word she said.
"Are you feeling alright, Cassandra?" Vicki questioned. "You look tired."
"Tired?" Cassandra was clearly baffled.
"You have dark circles under your eyes." Vicki indicated by rubbing underneath her own eye.
"What!" Cassandra gasped, rubbing at her eyes fiercely. "I didn't have them this morning! "
Before Vicki or Carolyn could react to her distress, faint distant shouting slightly disturbed the old paneled walls. The source seemed to be coming from downstairs.
"Is that mother and uncle Roger?" Carolyn wondered as she strained to listen to the obvious voices.
Jolting in response, Vicki sprinted down the corridor to investigate the commotion. The equally curious Carolyn followed after the governess.
Cassandra decided to hurry into Roger's bedroom. She immediately consulted her portrait, and discovered some heavy lines forming under her blonde counterpart's eyes. Lines that were never a part of her features.
Cassandra's blue pupils widened mortified. What was happening to her portrait?
Out in the corridors, Vicki and Carolyn filed out into the foyer from the second story, and found Elizabeth and Roger arguing down below. The two young women leaned over the banister.
"I am not going to dismiss Maggie Evans and Willie Loomis from their employment with us," Elizabeth shot at her brother.
"Liz, they momentarily stole Vicki's portrait," Roger spat.
"They didn't steal my portrait!" Vicki spoke up shocked from up the landing. "You inspected Willie's bag and all you found were blueprints, remember?"
"Vicki, have you forgotten that Willie Loomis intruded his way into our home with a vulgar excuse of a human being like Jason McGuire?" Roger countered fumingly.
"He didn't steal my portrait," Vicki argued rationally above him. "It returned safely back to your room. "
"Vicki, the likes of Loomis and Evans cannot be trusted in our employment," Roger sneered.
"Roger, Maggie is my friend," Vicki said defensively. "She'll never steal from me."
"She associates herself with Loomis," Roger said curtly. "If she is drawn to that, then surely she can't be any better than he is."
"Willie rescued Maggie from her abductors," Vicki said breathlessly. "And he definitely changed for the better when he started working for Barnabas. What got you into thinking of them like this?"
"Roger, do you have any substantial proof that Willie and Maggie stole Vicki's portrait?" Elizabeth looked at her brother narrowly.
"Not exactly, no," Roger admitted spitefully. "I just know they were the culprits."
"Given you don't have any evidence that they were responsible, and the portrait was seemingly misplaced for only a moment, Willie and Maggie will remain with us," stated Elizabeth. "I'd like for you to get rid of this ridiculous vendetta."
"I will do what I must to protect this house from criminal vermin!" Roger thundered, his face glowing bright red.
"Are you forgetting I am the mistress of this house?" Elizabeth authoritatively crossed her arms over her chest. "We're going to do what I think is best. Now, go and loiter around at the cannery."
Roger clenched his fist and glared at his sister deadly. With no retort at the tip of his larynx, he stomped over to the coat rack and put on his coat and fedora hat. He stormed out of the front double doors and slammed them roughly behind him.
"What has gotten into uncle Roger?" Carolyn queried her mother once he had left.
She and Vicki rushed their way down the staircase.
"Something has possessed him," Elizabeth bit off, glaring at the shut front doors evenly.
She turned her steely gaze on the governess. "Vicki, you may keep close tabs on the West Wing renovations. I'll be keeping a close eye on David's condition today."
"All right," Vicki replied. "I was going to have Mrs. Johnson cook him some eggs and toasts. Would it be all right if I served it to him?"
"Not at all," Elizabeth assured her, softening her stormy gaze.
Afterward, Vicki headed straight into the kitchen with Carolyn in tow. She gave David's breakfast order to Mrs. Johnson.
As the house maid fried up some eggs, and placed some bread in the toaster, Vicki and Carolyn indulged themselves with some morning coffee and light gossip.
Once David's breakfast and orange juice were prepared, Vicki grabbed the breakfast tray and promptly exited the kitchen, leaving Carolyn alone with the ever chatty Mrs. Johnson.
Once Vicki entered the foyer, she heard some voices coming from the drawing room.
"I am telling you, Liz, Roger's wife is turning him against you, and she is also responsible for David's illness. Just like how she tried to force you to think of nothing but death."
Vicki paused. She knew that male voice. It was a very distinguished Mainer accent.
"I don't doubt that," came Elizabeth's curt reply. "I'm not going to allow Roger or his new wife to manipulate me in order to gain control of this house or the fishing fleet. Frankly, I'm far more concerned about David. Something has got to be done."
"Yeah, but I don't like what you are planning to do."
"I made it very far in life by being cunning and ruthless. You know that. And this is my family being threatened."
"Yeah, but I still don't like it."
Vicki quietly tip-toed to the room's open double doors with the breakfast tray in hand. Once she reached them, she peeked inside and found the Collins matriarch sitting by herself on the couch with one leg crossed over the other, and a glowing fire burning strongly in the hearth.
"Mrs. Stoddard, are you talking to someone?" Vicki asked at the opened doors.
Elizabeth glanced over to the governess from the couch with her hands placed primly on her lap and a relaxed look etched on her dignified face.
"Hmm? What is that, Vicki?" she asked.
"I thought I overheard you talking to someone," Vicki exclaimed puzzled from the doors.
"There is no one here," Elizabeth said serenely from the couch. "I am alone."
"Yes, but I heard another voice in here," said Vicki, mystified.
"Then you must've imagined it," said Elizabeth. "There is no one here with me, and I wasn't talking to myself."
"But I could've sworn I heard someone else in here talking to you," Vicki uttered.
"Bring David his breakfast," Elizabeth ordered her dreamily. "And don't allow your imagination to run rampant with you."
"Yes, Mrs. Stoddard."
Vicki obediently carried the breakfast tray up the staircase. Her mind was heavily conflicted. Had Elizabeth told her the truth? Had she imagined a voice? Or had she really overheard the matriarch having a conversation with someone? Someone who sounded awfully familiar but was somehow invisible? Like David's interactions with Sarah?
When she served David his breakfast up in his bedroom, he looked gaunt, pale, and weak. He hadn't spoken a word to her.
Vicki figured his sore throat was still bothering him. She ordered him to take his vitamin, which was placed next to his orange juice on the breakfast tray. He wordlessly promised to take it once he had finished eating.
She then left him alone.
Once she quietly shut his door, she found she was still terribly worried about him. He seemed worse since she had left him about thirty minutes ago. Hopefully some rest would do him some good.
With a sigh, Vicki headed to her bedroom, deeply worried that David was going to need a doctor.
Before she could further contemplate that, she opened her door and gasped when she came inside.
A little girl sat on her canopy bed, playfully dangling her legs over the edge. She was a strange little girl with long brown hair and a splash of freckles on her face. She had on unusual clothes. A long pale dress with a matching bonnet. A frilly bonnet that appeared to be made in the colonial days along with the dress.
That is if Vicki was remembering the fashions of that era correctly.
She had spent a great deal of time consulting history books, looking at old faded pictures, and studying the history of Collinsport since its beginnings. Vicki became fascinated with the subject since she arrived in town and lived with the historical Collins family.
For a time, Josette Collins' mysterious ghost communicated with her. She even at one point rescued Vicki from her abductor Matthew Morgan. But it had been quite a while since Vicki last encountered Josette.
She silently watched the little girl sit on her bed, dangling her legs, and playing a flute. She was performing a song. Vicki recognized the tune as " London Bridge." The girl played it very eerily and somberly. It gave Vicki the chills.
Once she finished the song, she finally acknowledged the governess.
"Hello."
Vicki flinched at the unnatural child's voice.
"Hello," Vicki replied hesitantly. "Where did you come from?"
"I've come from all over," answered the girl vaguely with a light shrug of her shoulders.
Vicki frowned at that non-answer. "What is your name?"
"Sarah."
"Sarah," Vicki responded anxiously. "Are you David's friend?"
"Yes, and you are his governess, Victoria Winters," Sarah returned knowingly.
Frightened, but intrigued, Vicki drew herself cautiously to her bed and sat next to the ghost girl.
"I always knew you were real," Vicki murmured astonished. "David always spoke of you very vividly."
"Do you like my flute?" Sarah indicated the instrument in her hands.
"Oh, yes." Vicki grinned pleasantly. "You play 'London Bridge' very beautifully."
"I used to have a doll," the girl exclaimed thoughtfully, staring closely at her flute. "But I handed it to Maggie."
Vicki gaped at the child. She recalled that Sam Evans had encountered Sarah during Maggie's kidnapping. He came up to Collinwood one night specifically to question David about Sarah. Then a few hours after that, Sam rescued Maggie from her abductors with Willie's aid.
Since Sarah had visited Sam, Vicki wondered if Sarah also met Maggie during her abduction.
Before she could further ponder that, Sarah interrupted her thoughts.
"You have to watch over David, Vicki," the ghost girl said imperatively. "We are all worried about him. Especially, Josette."
"You know Josette?" Vicki looked at her in deep wonder.
"She can't see you right now," Sarah said cryptically. "But she wants me to give you a message."
"What is that?" Vicki queried with a tilt of her head.
"Don't give up," Sarah told her simply.
"Give up on what?" Vicki raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"On your search," said Sarah.
"My search?"
"Yes." Sarah nodded.
A piercing white light violently engulfed Vicki's bedroom. All her walls were instantly plastered in inky black words through the brightness of the light. All the words spelled the same.
HER NAME IS VICTORIA, I CANNOT TAKE CARE OF HER.
Vicki was startled by the abrupt painful words oozing out of her bedroom walls through the sharp light. The inky blackness forming the words were as thick as blood. Vicki's heart raced painfully.
"Her name is Victoria, I cannot take care of her." Vicki heard the disembodied voice of Mrs. Hopewell vibrating through her walls. She was the woman who raised her at the Foundling Home in New York City.
"Her name is Victoria, I cannot take care of her," assaulted the taunting voice of a bratty girl named Patty. She used to torment Vicki at the Foundling Home.
"Her name is Victoria, I cannot take care of her," echoed a male voice in a familiar thick New England accent.
"Her name is Victoria, I cannot take care of her," followed a male voice in a thick European drawl.
A flash of red light instantly erased the oozing words, and the piercing white light briskly vanished. The walls were suddenly back to normal.
Vicki gasped frighteningly, and gazed down on her lap. A small note was somehow placed there. A note containing the words that had done nothing but cause her pain and grief throughout her existence. A note she once bluntly described as her birth certificate.
"Her name is Victoria," a woman's voice distantly whispered in the ears of the orphan, reading the note. "I cannot take care of her."
Vicki glanced beside herself, and found Sarah had vanished along with the message. She returned her gaze back to the note. The raw words pierced sharply through her heart, and tears sting out of her eyes.
"I am finally going to be part of a family with Burke," Vicki's voice scraped out. "Why must I be tormented by this, Josette?"
The engine of Willie's white beat up truck made an ear-splitting screeching noise as he drove the disgraceful junker up the snowy and misty Widows Hill. His girl sat closely on the passenger side, and they were both bundled up in their coats.
"Willie, are you sure the engine doesn't need to be checked?" Maggie said alarmed.
"I-It always does that, Maggie." Willie kept his eyes on the precarious road. "But p-probably. I-I'll buy us a better truck someday soon."
"I know." Maggie sighed, glancing down on her lap.
Willie cast her a sideways glance. "What's eatin' you?"
"It's that Victor Fenn-Gibbon stranger," Maggie exclaimed, keeping her gaze on her lap. "I can't decide if I should feel happy for pop, or if I should keep on guard."
"What d'you mean?" Willie continued to keep his eyes on the road as he further drove his bumpy vehicle up the hill.
Maggie glanced up at him. "Willie, every time someone makes an amazing offer to pop on a painting, it either falls through, or something seedy happens. The first time, Roger Collins bought a whole bunch of his paintings in exchange for hush money to lock Burke in prison. Then Burke wanted a portrait of himself to be painted when he was going after the Collins family for putting him in prison. Then Barnabas wanted that portrait of himself... "
"I know." Willie winced guiltily from the steering wheel.
He needn't be reminded of the events of his former master's abduction of Maggie or his own involvement in that. Or the night in which Sam delivered the portrait to the Old House, and Willie was forced to restrain Maggie upstairs. She was forced to listen as her father was duped by the news that her dead body was allegedly found on the beach. It was the worst moment in Maggie's life.
"But he ain't a Collins, ain't he," said Willie, referring to Fenn-Gibbon. "Maybe it'll be different this time."
"Maybe," Maggie said hopefully.
"But he's very much like Barnabas," Willie muttered pointedly. "He's old and talks different."
"Yes," Maggie agreed heavily, remembering how eccentric the stranger was.
Willie's truck finally arrived at Collinwood. He parked and switched off the engine which made a loud cough-like noise as it shut off.
Maggie spotted a cute little snowman in front of the mansion. It had two stick arms, with a blue scarf wrapped around its neck, along with a long carrot nose, black buttons for eyes, a banana for a mouth, and a worn out top hat placed on top of its head. Maggie smiled. David must've built that with Sarah.
Once the couple clambered out of the truck and shut its doors, a throaty voice called out in the thin frigid air. "Willie!"
Julia came scurrying up to them. She had on winter boots, a long green coat, with a matching silk scarf wrapped around her neck.
"Dr. Hoffman," Maggie said alertly.
"Good morning, Maggie." Julia briefly acknowledged her before turning her urgent attention back to Willie as she trudged up to him in a pant. "Willie, I need you to be at the Old House tonight."
"What? Why? Did somethin' happen to Barnabas?"
"I'd rather not get into that now," Julia stated warily. "Just be at the Old House once you are dismissed here."
"Should I be there, too?" Maggie asked.
"No, your presence is not necessary," insisted Julia. "But you be there, Willie."
Before Willie could respond, Julia quickly retraced her steps and headed back into the woods. Willie and Maggie watched her disappear through the snow-capped forest trees.
"Willie, should I go with you to the Old House anyway?" Maggie asked him.
"Nah, I know ya frightened of that place," Willie told her. "I'll go alone."
The two trudged their way to the Great House through the snow.
"What do you think this is about?" questioned Maggie.
"I dunno," answered Willie honestly.
"I wonder if she actually waited for us." Maggie glanced over her shoulder to stare at the snowy trees.
They stepped up to the front doors. When Willie was about to rapped on them with the knocker, a familiar sweet scent tickled Maggie's nostrils. The strongly recognizable fragrance mingled with the stench of the icy sea. She reflectively grabbed Willie's arm.
"Wait, do you smell that?"
Willie inhaled the crisp salty air.
"Flowers, like at the Old House," he muttered with a frown.
"Josette's jasmines," Maggie said excitedly.
The front double doors of Collinwood abruptly blew open against the icy breeze, stinging their faces.
Willie and Maggie spotted Vicki standing timidly by the large table in the foyer. She was speaking on the phone, and looked utterly distressed. Her voice was nervously shaky.
"All right, Burke." Vicki rubbed her eyes wearily. "I'll see you later this evening. Yes, I am fine."
She glanced over her shoulder and found Willie and Maggie standing at the suddenly opened entrance.
"You have a good day at work," Vicki spoke into the receiver. "Willie and Maggie are here. I'll make sure the demolition is running along smoothly. Yes... Goodbye, darling."
Vicki returned the phone back to its cradle, and stepped up to Willie and Maggie at the entrance.
"Vicki, what is the matter?" Maggie observed the puffiness misting her friend's eyes.
"Sarah visited me in my room this morning," Vicki exclaimed shakily.
"David's friend?" Maggie raised a curious and surprised eyebrow.
"Yes, I was just telling Burke all about it," said Vicki. "And, oh, he's caught up in a share holders meeting, Willie. I will be monitoring the renovation today."
"O-Okay." Willie dutifully nodded.
"Have you been crying, Vicki?" Maggie queried gently.
"I suppose I have been." Vicki rubbed her eyes again and sniffed. "Sarah gave me a message from Josette. She wants me to find my parents."
"What?" Maggie said softly.
"It was terrifying," said Vicki. "The note that was found with me at the Foundling Home when I was a baby somehow wrote its message all over my bedroom walls in oozing black ink. Then voices whispered them to me. Voices of people I used to know."
Vicki heavily glanced down to the stone floor before she continued. "I've wanted to find them my whole life, but got sidetracked by Burke and the Collins family. After a while, I felt searching for them wasn't as important as I initially thought. Since coming here, I feel completely accepted. I thought I found something better."
"So, you're not going to search for them?" Maggie asked delicately.
"I don't know." Vicki kept her gaze to the stone floor, but then quickly glanced up again. "But Sarah did mention something else. She said she handed you her doll."
"What?" Maggie was extremely shocked and hesitant.
"Maggie, your father saw her more than once when you were kidnapped," Vicki reminded. "And I just saw her. She said she gave you her doll."
Maggie hadn't anything to say.
"We all know she is not some imaginary friend David conjured up," Vicki went on vigorously. "Have you ever seen her?"
Maggie swallowed. Ignoring Willie's subtle nervousness, Maggie decided to at least confirm to her friend one specific thing in regards to her kidnapping.
"Yes, Vicki. I have seen Sarah. And she gave me her doll."
The long day continued on with much noisy bustling hovering around Collinwood. Much of which was rather mundane.
Roger's caterers continued to prepare the Great Hall for the lavish Christmas party. Carolyn decided to deal with them so her mother could watch over the ailing David. (And not have to deal with them herself.)
The demolition of the West Wing continued on as scheduled. Vicki oversaw the project in Burke's absence. Willie, still the lead man in charge, concentrated on the layout of Burke and Vicki's master bedroom, along with two other crew members.
Tom Jennings continued working in the lounge with two others, while the rest of the other dozen crew members pounded away in some of the dusty corridors and other rooms.
With living bodies transforming the West Wing, two ghosts haunted the dark and neglected East Wing.
The ghost of Tim Shaw, a man with sandy blonde hair, and bearing the strong likeness to Tom Jennings, leaned against a stained-glass window that was covered in filth.
Cobwebs climbed up to the shadowy rafters of the forgotten corridor.
Tim wore a brown suit with a brown tie and a matching frock coat. The ghost was staring at his childhood friend Rachel Drummond rather perturbed.
"I just don't understand why you allowed Carl Collins of all people to persuade you to haunt a house that caused you much misery and grief, Rachel," Tim drawled. "And to flock around like some lost Lenore."
He gestured at the long flowing white gown and veil covering her from head to toe.
"Carl informed me I look very much like Josette Collins," Rachel exclaimed in awe. "He said I look like her in every feature. The witch seems to think so."
"And that maidservant who works here looks very much like you as well," Tim remarked thoughtfully. "I suppose she also carries the image of Josette. Good thing the original smells of flowers or it might become puzzling."
"There is also a servant boy who looks like you. "Rachel smiled shyly behind her transparent veil.
"Yes, it is very eerie how the living resemble so much of the dead," commented Tim. "It is astounding I find it so eerie, considering I am a ghost myself."
"I didn't much care for Carl in dragging me into all of this," Rachel admitted meekly. "But as time went on, I found it very liberating haunting an evil and wicked thing. I was a victim of evil and wickedness. It felt powerful not to feel like a timid little church mouse as I did in life."
"Will you rejoin me soon, Rachel?" Tim queried her. "We can sing all the sea shanties like we did when we were children. We can sing them against the sea breeze in the tropics, and watch all the ships sail on by."
"I was never going to stray from you, Tim," Rachel loyally assured him. "It is only that Carl and I have some wickedness to settle here."
"I highly support you in your battle against wickedness, Rachel," said Tim. "I sincerely hope there aren't any threatening monsters this time."
Absentmindedly, Tim peered through the filthy window. "Well I'll be."
"What is it?" Intrepidly curious, Rachel joined her dear friend by billowing up to the window.
"An old friend of mine is here," Tim informed her closely.
Rachel spotted an old portly man in round shiny spectacles and wearing a long black coat. He advanced his way across the estate. He had bushy wild hair and a matching beard.
"Who is he?" Rachel whispered to Tim.
"Count Andreas Petofi," Tim whispered back. "Also known as Victor Fenn-Gibbon. I met him shortly after your murder."
"What happened?"
"I was angry, bitter, and spiteful over all the terrible things Reverend Trask had done to you and to I," Tim explained. "I was seeking vengeance against him. One day, I encountered this... severed hand."
"What?" Rachel's soft gasp echoed down the forlorn corridor.
"The hand, as obscene as it is, granted me much good luck," Tim went on.
"A severed hand gave you good luck?" Rachel widened her dark eyes scandalized. "How can that be? Is it some sort of morbid lucky rabbit's foot?!"
"Suffice to say, it was no ordinary hand," echoed Tim. "But Count Petofi tried to reclaim it from me."
The two ghosts watched the man below draw closer to the Great House.
"But the hand was ultimately stolen from me by gypsies," Tim finished his tale.
"He is not a ghost." Rachel closely observed the man through the filthy window. "How is that even possible?"
"He has black magic," Tim exclaimed. "Naturally, he has a disconcerting history with Quentin. I have a distinct feeling Beth won't approve of him being here."
Down in the foyer, Maggie was dusting the large table as she thought about Vicki. Her friend was most definitely shaken by Sarah's unexpected visit, and her message from Josette. The message that the governess should resume the search for her parents.
Maggie would gladly offer her friend moral support in this ordeal, no matter what she decided to do.
But Maggie was thrown as to why Josette wanted Vicki to search for her parents now. An evil witch who cursed Barnabas and his whole family was running rampant in Collinwood. Given David's illness, Carolyn's strange episode, and Elizabeth's obvious paranoia toward her new sister-in-law, Maggie felt the witch had the family royally licked.
Her ponderings got abruptly interrupted by the entrance of Roger Collins, who came in from the back way through the kitchen.
He wore a long checkered coat and a brown fedora hat. He stepped up to the front entrance to hang up his coat and hat on the coat rack, along with the rest of the family's coats. Maggie thought Roger was acting very rigidly. He seemed intensely cold toward her presence.
But Maggie decided to be friendly with him anyway.
"Well, hello, Mr. Collins."
Roger ignored her. His back was stiffly turned on her as he hung up his coat and hat.
Then a rapping came from the front double doors.
"Answer it," Roger commanded of her begrudgingly, as he stepped away from the coat rack.
"But your closest to the door," Maggie said befuddled.
"You're the servant!" Roger shot at her, pointing sharply at the doors. "It is your duty to answer it, not the master of the house!"
Maggie was extremely unnerved. She knew for a fact that Mrs. Johnson didn't always answer the doors when a guest visited. Whenever she personally visited Collinwood before she became a maid, Vicki or Carolyn would often answer the doors.
But Maggie reminded herself that Roger was likely bewitched by his bride. She quietly crossed over to the doors and answered them.
"Mr. Fenn-Gibbon!" Maggie was surprised by the visitor at the doors.
"Hello, Maggie," replied Fenn-Gibbon in a friendly manner. "What brings you up to Collinwood?"
"I work here," Maggie explained casually. "What brings you up here?"
"I came to speak with the mistress of this house," said Fenn-Gibbon.
Maggie looked at him apologetically. "Oh, I'm afraid..."
"What the devil is this?!" Roger rudely cut Maggie off, and tensely raged up behind her.
"Mr. Collins, this is Victor Fenn-Gibbon." Maggie introduced the man. "He just came to town and met my father and Dr. Woodard last night at the Blue Whale."
"None of us here have the time to commune with your father's bohemian friends."
Roger slammed the doors on Fenn-Gibbon's face rather forcefully, shutting the old stranger out in the cold.
"Mr. Collins!" Maggie glared at him appalled. "That was very uncalled for!"
"You're not here to judge or criticize me, Miss Evans," Roger retorted indignantly. "You are paid to work here, and if I were you, I would try harder to earn my keep."
Out the cold shut doors, Fenn-Gibbon overheard that exchange between the insignificant Collins descendent and the servant girl. He was not deterred that he had the doors slammed on his face. On the contrary, he was rather amused. He deeply knew that man was not the master of this house. He was bewitched, and pathetically delusional.
Fenn-Gibbon just had to arrange a proper meeting with Elizabeth Collins Stoddard in another fashion. He would just have to be patient to receive that welcome invitation to Collinwood.
He had been to this Great House before, and knew it harbored many secrets. Fenn-Gibbon just happened to know what one of those secrets were.
As he stepped off the front porch, he came upon a woman in a long red coat with its attached hood covering her head.
Fenn-Gibbon couldn't make out the woman's face through the hood, but he did managed to glimpse into her round blue eyes. They were intensely enchanted eyes that were ancient but tried in vain to remain shiny and youthful.
"Good afternoon, my dear." Fenn-Gibbon smiled at her jovially.
Without saying a word, the woman quickly dashed her way around him, and hurried her way up to the front doors.
Fenn-Gibbon chuckled heartily at this gesture. He suspected he found the cause as to why the man who shut him out was so badly bewitched.
"Happy Solstice, my dear!" he called out to her.
Cassandra quickly stepped inside Collinwood and shut its doors. Given what she just sensed from that odd stranger, she heavily knew he was no mere mortal.
Evening arrived, and the darkened winter skies were every bit as dreary as the gray skies that clung sharply to the day. As the morning weather report predicted, a curtain of snow gracefully blew around the Great House and the small fishing village.
Once Maggie completed all of her chores, she wandered into the West Wing. The area was still a torn down construction zone. The crew had finished for the day, and Tom Jennings and the guys had already headed out.
Maggie spotted the dust covered Willie speaking to Vicki alone in one of the demolished corridors. They were both carrying lanterns to light up the darkened area. The governess still seemed a little shaken by her encounter with Sarah. But she was otherwise acting pretty resolved.
She and Willie were discussing the construction progress. Maggie made her way up to them.
"Hi, Vicki," she said tentatively, uncertain if she should say anything about Sarah, or the ghost girl's message from Josette.
"Hi, Maggie," Vicki murmured. "The renovation is going very well. Willie said we are right on schedule."
"Good." Maggie nodded and smiled.
"Are you two about to go?" Vicki queried the couple.
"I think we're done here." Maggie shrugged.
"Well, I think I'll check up on David, and wait up on Burke," exclaimed Vicki. "You two have a good evening."
"Thank you, and you, too," said Maggie.
"Good night," said Vicki.
"Good night."
Maggie and Willie watched her go. Once she disappeared, Maggie asked Willie out-right, "Did anything creepy and unnatural happened up here today?"
"I swore someone was watchin' me when I was workin'," Willie reported. "And I also swear I heard music."
"Music?" Maggie looked at him softly.
"Yeah, music that wasn't comin' from Jennings' radio," Willie said with frightened eyes. "T-This is g-ghost music."
"What did it sound like?" Maggie questioned, gently stroking his trembling arm in comfort.
"F-Faint," Willie stammered, "a-and c-creepy."
"It's like the Old House all over again. " Maggie heaved a deep sigh.
"A-At least these ghosts didn't m-move my toolbox 'round like Josette once did," Willie muttered.
"Willie, Roger Collins is deeply under the witch's spell," Maggie told him. "He was pretty hostile towards me earlier this afternoon."
"He's been hasslin' ya?" Willie's cowering eyes sparked in livid anger.
"He's been pretty cold to me," Maggie conceded. "Though, it wasn't like we were ever bosom buddies. But he never treated me this way. He yelled at me, degraded me for being a servant, and slammed the door on Victor Fenn-Gibbon's face when he came by earlier."
"He came by here?" Willie furrowed his brow.
"Yes, but I don't know why," said Maggie. "He wanted to see Mrs. Stoddard."
"Evans, Loomis." Roger's echoing drawl floated down to them through the demolished walls. The man himself rounded the shadowy corner with his own lantern in hand. "Vicki wants to see you both," he stated. "She forgot to mention something about the renovation."
"We'll be right down," Maggie told him.
"Oh, she isn't downstairs," Roger drawled with a shake of his head. "She's at the other side of the house searching for antiques and relics. I'm afraid you two are not accustomed with that area of the house, so I'll escort you there."
Maggie was still livid at Roger for how he'd treated her. She would like nothing to do with him. Willie glared at him rather nastily.
Sensing their anger, Roger added, "I deeply apologize Miss Evans for the way I acted. It's been a hard day at the cannery, and I'm deeply worried about David."
Maggie listened to his words. She knew he was still under Angelique's supernatural control. But David was greatly ill, and Roger would likely be concerned for him, in spite of their troubled history. Or being under a mind control spell.
"All right, Mr. Collins." Maggie accepted his apology, but knew he was still Angelique's slave.
"May I escort you both to Vicki now?" asked Roger.
Maggie wanted to leave this house, but she couldn't decline Vicki. And the governess was Willie's employer. Willie clung tightly to his lantern, and he and Maggie silently followed Roger out of the West Wing.
He led them to a squalid and abandoned area of the house with a dusty spiral staircase. Willie and Maggie followed the rich man up the creaking staircase. The area was dark and bone chillingly cold. Roger and Willie held up their lanterns to light their way.
"Vicki comes to this area of the house?" Maggie's skeptical voice echoed down the shadowy staircase.
It was so cold her voice actually mist the dusty air.
"True treasure can only be found in the most detestable of places," Roger responded to her dryly. "Vicki is intrepid enough to know that."
With the way he spoke to her, Maggie officially knew his earlier apology was disingenuous.
Once they reached the top of the staircase, Willie and Maggie followed Roger down the cobwebbed infested corridor. Maggie thought that if she was the kind of person who lived in Collinwood, she would start her own cobweb collection.
Roger suddenly halted at a door, and pulled out a key from the back pocket of his trousers.
"Here we are," he muttered.
"Vicki's in there?" Maggie breathed.
"Yes," Roger answered distractedly, not making eye contact with her.
"Wait, why do ya need a key to get to Vicki?" Willie demanded of him.
The rich man ignored him. He swiftly unlocked and flung open the door. He instantly shoved Willie and Maggie into the dark freezing room. He roughly grabbed Willie's lantern. The couple were about to wrestle the door from him, but Roger quickly slam it shut and immediately locked it. Willie and Maggie banged on the door hysterically.
"Mr. Collins!" Willie shouted frantically through the door. "Mr. Collins! What the hell are ya doin'!"
"You two are not fooling me!" Roger bellowed behind the door. "I know you are conspiring to destroy my wife's portrait!"
"But, Mr. Collins!" Maggie desperately pleaded. "Your wife is not a normal woman! She has you under a spell. You really don't know what you're doing!"
But it was unlikely Roger heard a word she said. Footsteps creaked away from the door.
Maggie banged on the door again. "Mr. Collins!"
"It's no use, Maggie." Willie told her defeated, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "He's gone."
Maggie miserably leaned her entire frame against the door, resting her forehead against it. Silent tears escaped from her eyelids. She felt she was back to being locked up in the basement at the Old House. A basement that was very much like a dungeon. Willie grabbed her away from the door, and shakily held her in his arms. His embrace was itchy and sweaty due to being covered in dust and debris, but Maggie gladly welcomed it.
"Oh, Maggie, d-d-don't cry. " He tried to comfort her, but he was obviously terrified himself.
Maggie could actually feel his fear coursing through his body.
"I-I'll g-get us outta h-here. I'll think of somethin'. I-I know I-I will."
Maggie let go of him and studied their new surroundings.
"Where are we?" she wondered.
The room was small and pitch dark, which was not good for Maggie's claustrophobia. It was so cold, Willie and Maggie's joints shivered uncontrollably. It had a window, but no source of light filtered through. The room had a round structural design, making Maggie feel she was locked up in a tower this time around and not a dungeon.
One thing for certain, Maggie disliked being locked up. Most of all, she disliked being the prisoner of some deranged Collins male.
Willie tried twisting the door knob but it wouldn't budge. He violently punched the door in frustration, letting out a yelp. He clung painfully to his fist.
Then a soft white light mystically illuminated their prison.
"Maggie, a light," Willie whispered.
The light gently shone on all the dust and thick cobwebs that infested the room. This light was very familiar to Willie and Maggie. It was a ghostly light. They'd seen this sort of light before at the Old House through Josette and the other ghosts of the Collins ancestors.
Due to this sudden light, it was obvious to both of them there was a ghost with them in this locked room. But it wasn't Josette, or any Collins ancestor that they knew of.
It was a ghost of a woman. She was a pale and pitiful spirit with a wild matted mane. Her dress was torn and ragged, her face was dirty and gaunt, and her amber eyes were wild and mad. Most of all, she clung tightly to two small dolls that were hard to make out. She squeezed them tightly to her chest.
She glared at Willie and Maggie with an aristocratic arrogance.
"HOW DARE YOU BOTH!"
Her booming shrill voice rattled the room, causing the terrified couple to fling themselves into each other's arms, shaking violently.
"YOU'VE COME TO TAKE MY PRECIOUS BABIES AWAY FROM ME!"
At her irrational accusation, Willie and Maggie screamed in bloodcurdling terror.
Next Chapter: The Vampire and The Governess