Disclaimer: Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis production and not mine
CHAPTER 19: LECHEROUS SCHEMES
Vicki stared at Elizabeth, struck completely dumb. She stood frozen – it felt like time itself had froze along with her. As though the family's ancient grandfather's clock was jammed.
But it was not.
A loud chime erupted from it, signaling that the morning had reached nine 'o clock.
But for Vicki, the noisy clock sounded so faraway. Nothing could divert her attention. Her eyes laid on the woman, who only a minute ago, was just a generous employer. Merely a friend.
Vicki had been speechless before. Not like this. Never before had words escape her. As thoughts escape her.
Vicki didn't know what to do – what to think – how to react.
Elizabeth Collins Stoddard was the woman she was searching for. The one woman she desperately yearned to find.
She was Vicki's mother.
"Liz," Vicki heard Burke breathe. He, too, was speechless. "After all this time over the past year..." He struggled to find his words, but got interrupted by a knock from the front doors.
That snapped Vicki out of her shocked delirium.
But no one was willing to answer the doors. They were immobile.
The knocks persistently continued on.
Finally, Roger bustled into the foyer, rushing out from the direction of the study. He stopped and gawked at the threesome. "Why aren't any of you answering the doors? It could be the caterers!" He purposely moved to the front doors and flung them wide open. But to Roger's annoyance, it wasn't his caterers. It was Tom Jennings and that little red-haired girl he cared for. "Oh, Jennings, why are you here? You were surely informed that the West Wing renovations are postponed for the time being."
"I'm still employed here, Mr. Collins," Tom patiently pointed out.
Roger had no quip.
Just as well. A small fleet of vans were driving up to the property. His precious caterers had finally arrived.
"Pardon me," Roger said to Tom, throwing on his brown winter coat. "I'll tend to them."
He quickly passed between the two at the threshold. Once he was gone, Burke crossed over to the new arrivals. He found himself glancing down at the little girl. "Hello, Amy. How's school?"
"I'm done with that for now," Amy replied brightly. "I'm on Christmas vacation!"
"That's good to hear." Burke grinned.
"Tom, I'd like for you to do the shoveling from the front steps to the garages," Elizabeth instructed woodenly. "Then around to the back terrace. When you are finished, ask Mrs Johnson if she needs you for anything." She touched Vicki on the shoulder. "Vicki, may I speak with you alone?"
The governess regarded her with a stoic expression frozen on her face. The kind of look Elizabeth herself was prone to wear. "Yes, of course, Mrs. Stoddard."
Burke watched them go into the drawing room, displeased as Elizabeth purposely closed the large panel doors. Shutting him out.
Noticing the look on Burke's face, Tom spoke up politely, "I take it we interrupted something?"
The question shook Burke out of his dismay.
"Well – yes," he answered frankly. "Vicki and Liz have some issues to resolve. Alone." He said that last part more to himself.
Tom thought it best to change the subject. "Say, have you seen Joe around?"
"He was here earlier." Burke nodded. "But he left a short while ago, trailing after Carolyn."
"I was hoping he would help me with the shoveling," Tom said from the frigid threshold. "But even if he were here, I doubt he'd be much help. He's been distracted by something lately. Not really himself."
"He couldn't even take me to school," Amy put in. "Carolyn had to do it. He was looking for someone on the grounds, acting really weird."
Then, the little girl noticed a housecoat-clad boy stepping silently into view passed Burke in the foyer. A boy who was the infamous David Collins.
Burke heard soft little footsteps from behind. He glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, Davy, why don't you show Amy Jennings around, while her big brother Tom helps out around the house."
Inside the foyer, the visibly gaunt David looked up at Burke blankly. "I got stuff to do, Burke," he murmured cryptically.
"Um – Vicki might be late giving you lessons today," Burke told him soberly. "Something personal came up. I think it's best that you get to know Amy."
"Do I have to?" David grumbled tiredly.
"It will do you some good," Burke insisted. "You're making a new friend.
"Come on in, kiddo, and meet David," Burke invited.
Amy gulped. She'd heard so many scary things about him since first meeting him here days ago. How he'd watched his mother burn. That he talked with ghosts.
"Come on in," Burke encouraged.
Not knowing what to do, Amy nervously darted a glance up at Tom. He wore an uncertain, but disapproving look on his face.
"It's all right, Amy," Burke continued his encouragement. "Davy is harmless."
"I've heard – a lot of stuff about this kid," Tom told Burke gruffly, but hesitantly.
At this, David glared at the handyman darkly. But Tom avoided making eye contact.
"None of which matters," Burke insisted. "It's all schoolyard gossip, Tom. David is a good kid. I'll look after them while you shovel. They'll have a great time. I give you my word."
"I was just going to let her play in the snow while I work," said Tom.
"It will take you hours to finish all of that shoveling," Burke reasoned. "She should be warm inside. Would you like for Mrs. Johnson to make you some hot chocolate, Amy?"
The girl nodded and smiled up eagerly. "Oh, yes!"
"I'll look after her," Burke promised Tom.
"You will?"
Tom didn't want to come off as ungrateful. Burke was a fine enough boss. He also seem like a fine man. But Collinwood had a reputation. Tom knew it deserved it. He'd worked in the West Wing after all. He heard the creepy echoing and music in the forlorn corridors. But what really made him hesitate was the way the home felt. Like nails scrapping across a chalkboard that no one could hear. Something was just wrong. And he still didn't know what to make of that David kid. He looked like a zombie just standing there staring at Tom with unnervingly dark eyes.
"Yes, I'll make sure Amy is safe," Burke promised.
Tom hesitated. He kept inwardly telling himself that Burke was a honest man. A man of his word. He didn't want to leave Amy alone at the cottage, or to risk her catching pneumonia out on the grounds with him.
Besides the rumors about this kid are far-fetched. Trying to kill his father when he wasn't even ten!?
"All right," he reluctantly relented. "Just look after her."
In the drawing room, Elizabeth had her back to the large closed doors. Vicki stood across the room, her own back turned to the crackling fireplace. The glow of the fire illuminated the governess, making her look a little ethereal.
Elizabeth thought she looked angelic. But given how much Vicki meant to her, she was perhaps bias in this regard. But that did not hinder the pride she felt for her daughter.
The younger woman wore the most stony expression that Elizabeth had ever seen on her. She was impressed, actually. But Vicki's silence was growing worrisome. Elizabeth wished she would say something – anything!
Thankfully – Vicki ended her stone silence.
"The night I arrived here – when we first met at those front doors out there – what went through your mind?"
"That you were finally home," Elizabeth replied.
"All the while, you made me believe that I was a stranger," Vicki said evenly.
"Vicki, I always intended to tell you," Elizabeth said calmly. "It's just – some chaotic drama constantly postponed it."
"Did you hire me as governess to get close to me?" Vicki asked.
"To bring you home," Elizabeth said softly.
"What happened?" Vicki demanded. "Besides that I was obviously born illegitimately."
"I was young and unmarried." Elizabeth gave a bracing nod. "Your father was – despicable – and news of my pregnancy would have caused a scandal."
"I see," Vicki said flatly. "I wish there was more to it than that."
"Vicki, please know that placing you on those steps at that foundling home -" her voice cracked then. This was so out of character – but Elizabeth had solidly buried these feelings for years. She was taken off guard by how powerfully raw they felt.
She choked.
Silent tears trailed down Vicki's cheeks. She quickly crossed the room and gently enveloped Elizabeth in her arms. The mother gratefully melted into her lost daughter's embrace. A daughter who was lost but never forgotten.
Even more gently, Vicki moved the older woman to the couch, where they both collapsed together. Elizabeth was still in Vicki's arms, frantically sobbing into her shoulder.
Vicki just quietly held her, her heart breaking. She was stunned by Elizabeth's confession. But despite a lifetime's worth of deception, Vicki wasn't actually angry. Nor was she bitter or resentful.
But as Elizabeth continued to weep, Vicki found that she was still deeply hurt. She'd been searching for her family her whole life – long before she'd came to Collinsport. Only to find out it was the Collinses all along. It almost felt like a joke. As Elizabeth recaptured her composure, dabbing at her liquid eyes, Vicki put voice to her hurt feelings.
"I wish you would've told me the night I came here."
Taking in her words, Elizabeth sniffled. "There was always..." she stopped herself. She began again. "I just wanted the moment to be appropriate. Perfect even. But I know that concept is absurd."
"The ghosts of your ancestors – our ancestors -" When Vicki made that correction, it fully hit her. Josette – little Sarah – they were her ancestors! "They wanted you to tell me now," Vicki finished.
"I think they wanted you to know from the beginning. But I suppose you were meant to find out now of all times," Elizabeth said meekly.
"Maybe this is why I felt so connected to Josette," Vicki whispered. "She's my ancestor."
Elizabeth reached out for her daughter's hand on her lap, giving it a little squeeze. "Vicki – I'm sorry for everything. If you let me, I'll do anything to make it up to you."
"I already forgive you Mrs. Stod-" Vicki impulsively stopped her sentence. "Oh – um – I guess I don't need to call you Mrs. Stoddard anymore."
Elizabeth tenderly squeezed her hand. "We'll work on this one day at a time."
"All right."
The two warmly hugged.
Once they let go, Vicki straight-up asked, "Who's my father? Sarah said I met him, too. You just called him despicable."
As Vicki said this, she searched her memory for middle-aged men she had met with recently, pinpointing the one Vicki knew could easily be described as despicable.
Vicki gasped, thunderstruck.
Elizabeth nodded apologetically. She could tell that Vicki had figured it out.
Vicki let it all sink in. The drunkard at the diner that was barely Jason McGuire. Not only was he obviously despicable, he also had a history with Mrs. Stoddard. Vicki never considered how intimate their past association could have been. Shameful as it was, it made sense that he was her father.
"Well – I see where Carolyn gets her infatuation with dangerous men," Vicki said lamely.
Elizabeth let out a small chuckle. "I'm glad you passed on inheriting that unwise trait."
Vicki managed a grin. "Don't give me too much credit. I'm marrying Burke Devlin."
"Vicki, please know that your father doesn't determine who you are."
"I know." Vicki sighed.
Elizabeth nodded, pleased to hear that.
Growing up in a orphanage had shown Vicki you really couldn't pick your parents.
"So – what do we do?" Vicki asked. "Do we make this public?"
"For now, let only the family know," said Elizabeth.
Vicki nodded. "Yes, of course." She smiled amazed. "Wow – I can't believe Carolyn is my half-sister! And David – he's my little cousin!"
"Victoria." Elizabeth sounded apprehensive. "Can we conceal McGuire's role in your conception? Please understand I'm certainly not ashamed of you!"
Vicki thought for a moment. The implications were painfully embarrassing to comprehend.
"I know you're not ashamed of me," Vicki assured her. "And, I guess I'm not exactly over the moon that Jason McGuire is my long-lost father, either."
Elizabeth smiled at her daughter, eternally grateful.
By the large plate-glass window, Bill Malloy's ghost proudly watched the scene, keeping himself invisible. But he knew that Liz could smell his briny musk. He was proud of her for finally getting over her stubbornness. He knew the girl they named together would handle it beautifully. He'd believed in her all along.
Bill wasn't the only ghost who was pleased by this development.
Outside the drawing room's doors, Josette eavesdropped as well. She was glad Victoria was distracted by this. Hopefully, it would pull her attention away from the West Wing.
Barnabas returned to the Old House, after enjoying a light stroll on the Collins grounds. Since the return of his mortality, he'd found he never tired of basking in the light of day. Feeling all that natural light pouring down on his face without the deadly repercussions.
It felt incredible. As though he'd been reborn.
After nearly two centuries of existence, Barnabas felt he was finally experiencing a true life after death. Interestingly, each life was from a different century. That fact was just as fantastical to him as it was amazing.
As he hung up his coat, he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that he hadn't (casually) bump into Vicki during his stroll. To enjoy the seasonal weather.
But he knew she was distracted by her busy life. With the happenings up at the main house.
Barnabas felt that there may be some cause for concern. Collinwood was haunted. Like ice flowing through the veins of the ancestral manor.
He hadn't forgotten the unsettling news from the West Wing. That the spirits were stirring. He knew Josette and the rest of his departed family were handling that situation. While he was invested with his latest campaign against Angelique, and the implications of his new-found mortality.
He wondered how serious the West Wing situation had grown.
Stepping out of the foyer, Barnabas found Julia sitting on one of the armchairs in the parlor next to the warming fire, deeply engrossed with a thick red volume.
"You started the fire?" Barnabas asked from the room's pillar entrance.
At the sound of his voice, Julia glance up from her reading. "No, it was the ghost of your manservant Ben Stokes."
"I see." Barnabas came into the room. "What are you reading?"
"It's a book on the occult," Julia answered. "Well – Egyptian folk-lore, more like. I'm trying to determine the source of Angelique's power so I can neutralize it and hopefully make her as mortal as you."
"With your science?" Barnabas looked at her softly.
"Yes," said Julia.
Barnabas creaked over to the fireplace, resting his arm on the mantle.
"Angelique must've gained her powers from an unholy source," he theorized. "Likely, something less exotic than Egypt. Young women were less well-traveled in our time. It would need to be someone closer to home. Someone who was already supernaturally powerful."
"Like a guru?" Julia suggested.
"Perhaps," said Barnabas. "I studied mysticism when I traveled the world. Including my time in Martinique. I have met their warlocks. Observed their crafts. I do not believe she would associate with any of them."
Julia quirked an eyebrow. "You met with warlocks?"
"Julia -" Barnabas began.
"Before you were a vampire," Julia cut him off. "You were experimenting with dark magic?"
"My family has always been inquisitive, doctor," Barnabas spoke formally.
Julia sighed wearily.
"Maybe a séance is the answer," she said thoughtfully. "Do you know anyone who was close to her at the time?"
Barnabas shook his head heavily. "No, she lived a double life. The only ones who truly knew her were her victims."
"We still have her portrait," Julia reminded. "Its restored itself since she came back. But it hasn't just magically popped back to her lair. Like it did when Willie stole it."
"No, I assume Ben's tampering weakened Angelique's pull on the portrait," said Barnabas.
"He can actually do that?" Julia asked.
"When a spirit binds itself to a master, they gain a portion of the master's powers," Barnabas informed.
"Josette," Julia concluded.
"Just so." Barnabas nodded.
"Then we can use it as a weapon against her," Julia encouraged.
"No, we need a better strategy," Barnabas said seriously. "Every time we've struck out at her blindly, she recovers due to an unforeseen circumstance. Research powerful occult leaders active between three to two centuries ago. Hopefully it will lead to some answers regarding how Angelique acquired her powers."
Julia dropped her eyes to the volume on her lap. "So, today we're summoning warlocks from hell." It sometimes amazed even her the lengths she would go to for science.
Maggie had never been in the cavernous room grandly known as the Great Hall. When she'd first heard of this room, she honestly thought it sounded egotistical. She'd always viewed Collinwood as something like a castle – but sheesh.
As it turned out, the Great Hall was more like a forgotten party room. A intimate gothic ballroom rather. The Great Hall seemed to just be some kind of nickname. A room that had obviously been neglected for years. It had high paneled ceilings with five brass chandeliers decked with real candles. The walls were dark and paneled with regal trim. The windows were artistically arched. The floors were dusty and cluttered, but seemed to be dark tile. A large set of French doors were on the opposite end of the room, opening up to the mansion's side terrace. The room wasn't grand exactly. But it could fit at least forty people inside comfortably.
Instead of seeming foreboding like the rest of the haunted castle, the Great Hall instead had fallen into crowded chaos. But unlike the somber ghoulish chaos that Maggie had grown so used to, this chaos was lively.
The Great Hall was bustling with caterers fussily following orders. Studiously decorating for the Christmas ball. A bash Maggie couldn't believe was still on after everything the witch put the Collinses' through.
The head caterer, a thin, balding fellow, overdressed in a double breasted suit, was a real piece of work. He seemed to relish hassling his workers. He clearly eyed Willie as fresh meat. Someone he could gleefully harass.
Willie, however, was more than used to being subjugated to bad bosses.
After Jason McGuire and Barnabas Collins, Baldy was nothing.
But what made it irritating was the fact that Baldy wasn't even suppose to be Willie's faux boss. Willie was technically undercover for Barnabas, so he and Maggie could look out for the witch. Even then, he was supposedly pretending to work for Roger.
He could handle Barnabas' aristocratic old school abuse. But Baldy's snide critiques on the way Willie hung up wreaths was irksome.
"Oh, come off it, Loomis, it's crooked!"
Or how Willie draped golden garland on the windowsills.
"It looks like a crumpled pile, Loomis!"
It took every ounce of restraint in Willie's being not to strangle him with his own lavender ascot – or perhaps he would just use the wreath and garland instead, leaving the festoonery neatly on top of him like karmic decoration.
Besides, the wreaths were perfectly centered. He'd wrapped the garlands expertly.
If there was one thing Barnabas had manage to beat into Willie, it was how to do a job right the first time. Though Willie cheekily thought that even then he could be pretty creative in how he followed orders.
All morning, Willie watched Baldy giving the other caterers the same treatment. They looked pretty harried. If those poor saps put up with this on a daily basis, then Willie truly felt for them. Even the undead had more respect for their employees.
Baldy was clearly a jackass. All he did was harshly criticize other people's work and never lifted a damn finger himself.
Maggie had come to the Great Hall to check how Willie was holding up. She'd arrived in time to hear a nasally bald man accuse her boyfriend of purposely twisting some garland out of its proper alignment. But Willie was clearly tuning him out.
Once the man moved on to annoy someone else, Maggie came up behind Willie at one of the arch windows. He was standing on a stepladder, casually tipping the wreath askew.
"Hello, sweetheart," Maggie greeted. "I see your Collinwood Christmas decorating adventure is every bit as joyless as mine was. Though, Mrs. Johnson was positively charming compared to him."
"I can buy that Baldy and Roger Collins are pals," Willie drawled, his focus on re-straightening the wreath. (He couldn't help himself.)
Maggie peered through the window. A dark figure from outside caught her eye. She couldn't tell who it was at first. The figure was a good distance away, and the hundred year old glass distorted her view as well.
She realized the figure was a man in a gray winter coat and fedora. He had sparkling black eyes and a goatee.
It was Nicholas Blair.
Even though he was far way, Angelique's cohort seemed to have locked his beady eyes on Maggie's through the window. He winked at her and jauntily went on his way.
Maggie balked. Did he actually do that? Was she seeing things?
Up the stepladder, Willie groaned. "Ahhh, Nicky the boy witch likes ya!"
Maggie shot her eyes up at him. "You saw that?"
Willie curtly nodded. "Yeah, through the wreath."
"Did he see you?" Maggie wondered.
"Probably not," Willie muttered. "He only had one eye open and it was on you."
"Hmm, he couldn't have come up here just to flirt with me through the window?" Maggie pondered.
"Another low-life is chasin' after ya, Maggie," Willie grumbled. "I don't like it."
"I don't like it either, Willie." Maggie rubbed the back of his denim covered leg as he stood rigidly still on the stepladder. "But if it makes you feel any better, you're the low-life I go chasing after."
"Thanks," Willie muttered.
But his eyes never left the retreating warlock. He was not comforted by Maggie's reassurance. Nicholas Blair was stalking. Very much how Barnabas used to do when Willie first released him from his coffin.
In his bedroom, David put on a burgundy sweater and slacks. After making his bed, he sat on it, blankly staring at the antique phone on his desk. His eyes were dark. His face solemn.
"David."
The boy started.
Sarah stood at the end of his bed. He hadn't noticed that she materialized there.
"Are you under his spell?" She looked at him worryingly.
David shook himself. "I'm chucking out the phone!"
With fierce determination, David charged at his desk, furiously clutching the candlestick phone. However, as he bolted to his door, a light rapping came from behind it.
"David?" Burke's voice brought David up short.
He begrudgingly returned the phone back to his desk.
He answered his door and found Burke out in the corridor with Amy. The girl had taken off her coat, showing off her red and black checkered dress.
"Good, you're dressed," Burke said, pleased. "I thought you could entertain our guest." He gestured down toward Amy.
"I just had some hot chocolate." Amy flash a toothy grin.
David didn't say anything. He just stared at her with dark eyes.
"I have some calls to make," Burke told him. "But Mrs. Johnson is still in the kitchen if you want some, too."
"I don't want any right now," David declined.
"For the time being, why don't you show Amy Robo?" Burke entreated.
"Girls don't like robots," David sniffed.
"I don't mind robots," Amy said casually.
"Liar!" David said accusingly. He didn't have time to deal with this kid. There was no telling when the demon phone would go off again.
"Girls can like the same things as boys," Burke cut in. "Like cars for instance. Something to keep in mind when you get older."
"I can't play around right now," David dismissed. "I have things to do."
"Actually, you have free time," Burke reminded. "Something came up with Vicki. You probably won't be getting any lessons today."
"Why?" David frowned. "What's going on with Vicki?"
"We'll talk later," Burke said heavily. He gestured down toward Amy again. "For the time being, try getting to know Amy Jennings and have a little fun."
Burke left the red-haired girl at David's doorway. David watched him do so glumly.
"I mean what I said," Amy insisted earnestly. "I really don't mind robots."
"All right, come in," David grumbled.
Amy slowly stepped into his room, glancing around. "Your room looks pretty normal," she commented.
"Well, what did you think my room would look like?" David said affronted.
"It's not near as gloomy as its supposed to be." Amy wandered over to his desk. "The kids at school think your bed is a coffin."
"Why would they think that?" the baffled, disembodied voice of Sarah whisper into David's ear.
"The kids at school are stupid," David spat at both girls.
"The only ones that sleep in coffins are the dead," Sarah said matter-of-factly into David's ear. "But they only sleep during the daylight. At nightfall, they rise from their coffins and drink blood."
As Amy went on lightly touring the room, Sarah's commentary was giving David goosebumps.
"You mean like a vampire?"
Amy squinted at David from his stained-glass window. "I didn't say anything about a vampire."
"I know a vampire," Sarah's voice privately relayed to David.
The boy was absolutely spooked. Vampires were actually real? And Sarah of all people knew one? He badly wanted to know more, but he had no choice but to ask Sarah later.
Amy was looking at him like he was loony.
"But you did," David hastily recovered, his tone cocky and superior. "You just said that all the kids at school say I sleep in a coffin. That makes me a vampire!"
"Vampires sleep in coffins?" Amy frowned.
"Yes, everyone knows that!" David retorted.
Amy shrugged. "I don't know much about vampires. Only that they come out at night and drink blood." She scrunched up her face when she finished that comment.
David shrugged. "I guess you're not completely hopeless," he remarked brusquely.
"I know you can't be a vampire," Amy insisted. "I've seen you during the day."
"I don't know what to think of her, David," said Sarah's secret voice.
Amy wandered back over to the desk. "Why do you have a dinosaur phone?"
"David," Sarah's voice squeaked frantically.
Amy was already picking up the cursed candlestick phone, closely inspecting it.
David quickly rushed over. "We have all kinds of old junk in this house."
"It's kinda neat." Amy took the phone from its cradle, placing it against her ear. "Does it work?"
"No, it's disconnected." David ripped the phone away from her, placing it back to its cradle. He shakily set it back on his desk. "It's a piece of junk. I've been meaning to get rid of it."
"Can I have it?" Amy asked hopefully.
"What? This old thing!?" David scoffed.
"I-I dunno." Amy searched for words to explain. "I don't think it's junk at all. I think it's treasure."
"You're weird." David scoffed.
"Now David, when you found it in the West Wing, you thought it was treasure," Sarah's little voice reminded.
"I'll be happy to take it if you really don't want it," Amy offered.
David thought for a moment. "You'll get rid of it?"
"No, I'm gonna keep it." Amy smiled sweetly. "But if you give it to me, you'll get rid of it."
"That's what I meant," said David.
"David, you mustn't let her have it," Sarah quickly warned.
"Well – if you really want to take away my garbage, you can keep it," David allowed.
"Oh, David, thank you!" Amy happily picked up the phone.
"David, what have you done!" Sarah's voice sounded appalled.
"Don't worry, Quentin can't hurt her," David whispered confidently. "She doesn't live in the main house. And she's not even a Collins. She means nothing to Quentin. She's useless to him."
"I don't know," Sarah whispered.
Their conspicuous, private communication went unnoticed, as Amy's sparkling eyes were wildly dazzled by her new treasure.
By early afternoon, Maggie was busying herself dusting one of the main floor corridors, with its stately paneled walls, portraits of random Collins ancestors, and old world side tables.
While running her feather duster along one of said side tables near the old servants entrance, Maggie was surprised when Vicki, bundled up in her winter coat, stepped in from the cold. She waved to her good friend, but received no reply. Vicki simply walked passed.
Her feather duster still in hand, an earnest Maggie followed after her friend.
"Hey, what have you been up to?" The maid caught up with the governess. "Aren't you supposed to be giving lessons to David?"
Vicki stopped and absently acknowledged Maggie. "Oh, I needed some time to myself."
"Was there more trouble in the West Wing?" Maggie asked anxiously.
"No – something else came up," Vicki answered.
"It usually does in this house," Maggie muttered.
"Yes," Vicki agreed.
They walked onward down the dark, narrow corridor, shoulder to shoulder.
"I saw the Great Hall," Maggie relayed conversationally. "I'd never been in there before. Its like a ballroom."
"I've never been in there myself," Vicki revealed.
"Really?" Maggie raised her brows. "That's surprising. You've been living up here for over a year."
"Well, in my defense, its a pretty big house," Vicki responded. "I haven't been in all of the rooms. And there's certain sections that Mrs. Stoddard closed off. Until recently, including the Great Hall."
"I wonder if there are going to be any more grand parties in Collinwood's future," said Maggie.
"I don't think Mrs. Stoddard will permit it," Vicki murmured.
"I never thought this was a real partying house," Maggie quipped. "It's not exactly festive. Even for Halloween."
"Yeah." Vicki's mind was obviously elsewhere.
"Is there something wrong, Vicki?" Maggie bluntly asked.
Vicki paused before responding. "I'll – let you know – a little later," she stammered.
Maggie only grew more concerned. "Vicki, you're talking a lot like Willie. Something is definitely wrong."
"Nothing's wrong," Vicki said, still distracted. "It's just – I'm a little emotional right now."
"Holiday depression got ya down?" Maggie tried joking, to lighten the mood.
"It's something personal. I'll tell you later," Vicki said with finality in her voice.
"All right." Maggie respected her wishes. "If you ever need to talk, even if it's just about how stupid Burke is being, you know my number."
Vicki glanced at the first person she met when she'd first arrived at the village from New York. Her first ever friend in Collinsport.
"I know."
"I got your back," Maggie told her.
Vicki grinned.
The two young women neared the kitchen.
"Want some hot coffee?" Maggie offered. "I'm suddenly nostalgic for all those slow, peaceful days back at the diner."
Vicki grinned again. Maggie always seemed to have this knack for cheering her up. "All right, Maggie, I'll be in the drawing room."
As Maggie went into the kitchen, Vicki went through the side door under the landing in the foyer.
Hanging her winter coat by the front doors, she felt something cold and wispy lightly brush the back of her neck.
She gasped, wildly staring around. She was the only one in the foyer. But it suddenly felt like she was anything but alone. Perhaps she was being haunted. By the Collins ancestors, naturally. Ghosts – who turned out to be – her ancestors.
"Josette?" Vicki asked the air.
"Vicki?" Burke came hurrying down the staircase.
Vicki hadn't heard him come through the door upstairs.
"Are you alright?" He pulled her into his strong arms. "I – I don't know what to say – to think. You and Liz -"
"I know, she's my mother." Vicki gently released herself from his arms, looking up at him with soft, moist eyes. "I forgave her for giving me up. And for hiding it all from me." Vicki composed herself. "I found what I was searching for. I found my family. I'm not going to let bitterness or petty grudges ruin what I could have."
Burke lovingly trailed a finger under her chin. "Vicki – I have to say – if I were in your shoes, I would not be handling this as gracefully."
The two lightly chuckled.
"I am a wreck, though." Vicki wiped her eyes.
Burke smiled adoringly. "All I can say is you make one beautiful wreck, Miss Collins."
The couple gazed at each other affectionately.
"So – I know who your mother is," Burke said optimistically. "Did Liz tell you who your father was?"
Vicki dropped her eyes. "That doesn't matter, Burke. My family is here." She lifted her eyes to his. "And that includes you. You are going to be a part of my family. I hope you know that."
Burke gently cupped her chin and leaned forward. They kissed sweetly and softly.
They broke apart when they heard a bubbly giggle. David and Amy were heading down the staircase. Amy was smiling ear to ear, carrying a bronze object in her arms. David on the other hand looked he just accidentally swallowed a fly. Once the children reached the bottom landing, Vicki saw that Amy was carrying the antique phone David had in his room.
"Well, Davy, did you and Amy have a good time?" Burke asked casually.
"Till we saw that," David grumbled under his breath.
"He gave me his old phone." Amy smiled brightly, showing it off.
"That's very sweet of you, David." Vicki looked at her charge proudly.
But the boy didn't meet her warm gaze. His dark eyes were downcast.
"Did you thank David?" Burke asked Amy.
"Oh, yes," Amy said happily. "Can I show Tom?"
"I'll help you with your coat," Burke said courteously.
As he helped the girl with her coat, Sarah invisibly looked on from upstairs, dangling her legs over the railing.
"Sarah, I'd like for you to look after that child." Josette's disembodied voice communicated with the ghost girl.
"I already know that," Sarah murmured mournfully.
Down in the foyer, David, Burke and Vicki watched Amy leave through the large front doors. Once the red-haired girl was gone, Vicki tenderly smooth David's brown hair. "That was very sweet of you giving Amy that phone. She clearly loves it."
"I guess she likes old stuff like that," was all David could manage.
He hoped – no – was sure – that Quentin couldn't use that phone once it was out of the house. He wouldn't call Amy. She meant nothing to him. He wouldn't even bother trying to put her under a spell. She was useless, which was a good thing.
Best of all, David was free of him.
But then the air chilled drastically. He felt tension raging from his haunting ancestors.
Something was wrong.
A loud rapping sounded off at the front doors.
"Did Amy forget something?" Burke obliviously headed for the doors.
"We sure have been getting lots of visitors lately," Vicki noted.
Like David, she too felt the tense chill in the air.
Burke swung the doors wide open. He was greeted by the ever bushy face of Victor Fenn-Gibbon.
"Hello, Mr. Devlin," Fenn-Gibbon said pleasantly from the threshold, his old fashion spectacles shining. "How are the fine inhabitants of Collinwood on this crisp winter's day?"
Next Chapter: The Warlocks Strikes