A séance has been held at the Great House on the Collinwood Estate. Seeking answers to the mysteries wrought by an artifact of unknown origin, four people have come together to contact its last known owner. As a result, Maggie Collins has woken, as if from a dream, to find herself in Collinwood in 1897—alone and desperate to find a way back to her own time.
When Maggie woke, the room was still dark. She was wearing her knit dress. She was certain she had been wearing a muslin nightgown. She sat up. Quentin was sitting on the edge of the bed; Julia was on the other side with her medical bag on her lap. Professor Stokes stood sentry-like at the foot of the bed.
"Maggie—thank goodness," Quentin said. "We were so worried about you."
"What happened?" Maggie asked in a small voice.
"Don't you remember?" Julia asked with a pointedly raised eyebrow.
"We were holding a séance," Maggie said.
"Yes," Professor Stokes said. "We should never have attempted it. It proved too much for you."
"Too much?" Maggie's head was still in a fog.
"Yes. And we won't attempt another," Quentin said angrily. He rose. "I forbid it." He stormed out of the room.
"Quentin, don't go!" Maggie pleaded with her departing husband.
"I've a monograph that requires my attention, if we're to get to the bottom of this. Get some rest, my dear," the professor said, as he too left the room.
Julia opened her medical bag and took out a syringe and needle, filling it from a small vial. "This sedative will help you sleep," she told Maggie.
"I don't need a sedative, Julia."
"I have business to attend to for Barnabas back at the Old House. I'll check on you again in the morning," Julia said, as she administered the sedative.
"I don't need a sedative …"
Maggie drifted off. Then she heard something. She struggled to sit up. "Who is it?" she called out. "Who's there?" There was something outside of her window—a bat. Then, against all understanding, it transformed into a man—a cloaked man, shrouded in darkness. As the man emerged from the alcove of the window into the dark room, Maggie cried out for her husband, "Quentin! Help me. Please, Quentin. Help me!"
"Wake up, Lady Kitty. Wake up." Elsie bent over her, gently shaking "Lady Kitty."
Maggie pulled herself to sitting. "Where am I?" she asked.
"Collinwood, ma'am."
"Collinwood," Maggie murmured. "And it's still 1897?"
The girl smiled at her, "Yes ma'am … I mean, yes, Lady Kitty. I've drawn your bath," the girl told her.
Sitting in the tub of quickly cooling water, a fresh wave of desperation and sadness swept over Maggie. Another day must be spent in 1897, searching for a way back to her own time. There must be a way. She'd never felt more alone than she did at that moment.
As she had the day before, she sat at the vanity brushing her hair, and watching Elsie in the mirror as she made the bed, and laid out another of Lady Kitty's black dresses.
As she caught Elsie's eye, the maid asked, "Did you know him ma'am? Mr. Quentin, I mean."
"No, why do you ask?"
"It's just that you called his name in your sleep," the girl replied and then catching herself, she added, "I really should mind my own, as Mrs. Dunn would say."
"It's all right, Elsie. It must be because Edward spoke about him yesterday. I guess he was just on my mind." Then she asked, "What is Quentin like?"
"Feckless and spoiled, Mrs. Dunn would say—because he was old Mrs. Collins's favorite—and could get away with anything. But I'd say he's charming and has a way with the ladies. All the ladies like him. And he's handsome—very, very handsome." The girl smiled the kind of smile that Quentin often inspired in women.
It could have made Maggie jealous to hear her husband spoken of in that way, but it just made her miss him all the more.
When Maggie arrived downstairs later, she was mentally prepared for another day of play-acting, but she also decided it was time to seek out Evan Hanley. He must be the key, she thought. Somehow all of it—the puzzle-box, the séance, and now his connection with Lord Hampshire's estate—it all led to him.
She found Edward in the library.
"Here you are, at last, Kitty. I nearly gave up hope of seeing you before I leave," Edward said looking up from the desk.
"Leave?" she asked.
"I'm afraid I must go to the cannery today. There are certain business matters that cannot wait," he said in a tone that suggested the matters were of great import. "I am sorry to leave you alone so soon after your arrival, but I thought perhaps Miss Bouchard could be prevailed upon to keep you company while I'm away."
"No." She hadn't meant to sound so emphatic. She added in a more gracious tone, "No, thank you, Edward. I have other plans for the day."
"Plans?" he asked as though the word itself was incomprehensible.
"Yes, I should like to see Mr. Hanley this afternoon."
"But Kitty, I really must go to the cannery. If you will wait until tomorrow, I can go with you. Indeed, there's no need for you to exert yourself on these matters. I want to help, and as a man of business I'm better suited to dealing with them," he said in a high-handed, patronizing way, or so it seemed to Maggie.
Maggie sighed then she smiled and began, "Thank you Edward. You are so good to me, but this is something I must do for Gerald. Before he …" here she feigned delicacy on the subject of Gerald Soames's death. "He asked me to attend to his affairs personally. Well, I had no way of knowing what was to come, but I made him a promise," Maggie lied. "And a promise is a promise. Don't you agree, Edward?"
"Yes, of course, Kitty. I understand. But at least let me take you there in my carriage on my way to the cannery. Will you let me do at least that much for you, Kitty?"
"Thank you, Edward. I'd appreciate that." She bestowed a look of gratitude on him through long, batted lashes.
Maggie stood at the front door of Evan Hanley's home for a long moment watching Edward's carriage retreat down the drive. She was exhausted from his smothering attention, to say nothing of the ceaseless playacting. Just for these few moments, she was free to be herself before resuming the role of Lady Hampshire.
The key is here. I feel it, she thought. Perhaps when I find it, I'll return to my own time.
The attorney's housekeeper answered "Kitty's" knock and showed her inside. Unfortunately the man himself was out at the moment and not expected back until later. The housekeeper, though chatty, was of limited help—the attorney had gone to Bangor on business and stayed overnight as he often did. He rarely told her when to expect his return—he didn't need to. Having worked for him for so long, the housekeeper told her, they just understood each other. At the end of this, long winded and not particularly enlightening explanation, the housekeeper had offered her tea.
All at once, Maggie was aware that other than Mrs. Dunn's exceptionally dry toast points and coffee, she'd had nothing to eat all day. "Thank you. I'd appreciate it," she told the housekeeper.
When the older woman left her, Maggie made a closer study of Evan Hanley's sitting room. It was decidedly masculine. It was ornate in keeping with the style of the time, but dark and heavy. It smelt of candle wax and tobacco—pipe smoke, perhaps.
The housekeeper delivered a tea tray and then disappeared once again into the bowels of the house, leaving Maggie to enjoy her tea, alone with her own thoughts. The tea, she found, revived her. It was the ideal time, she thought, to take a discrete look around.
She crept to the door of the sitting room. Beyond it, on the other side of the entryway, she could see the entrance to his study. She tiptoed across to it. The door was slightly ajar. She peeked in. The room was dim, lit only by the pale afternoon light that found its way to a large window. The room was lined with books, punctuated by art and artifacts. She took a tentative step inside. A fearsome wooden mask that hung on one wall gave her a fright; on another, there were two carved, wooden clubs—their purpose unclear, but likely untoward.
Interspersed with the books were smaller objects of all varieties. The puzzle-box, if it were there, would be one of these. Her eyes scanned the bookcases, until at last she saw it—a small wooden box. From this angle, she couldn't be sure.
"I would offer to help, but you seem to have helped yourself," a voice shattered the quiet and stopped Maggie in her tracks.
She gathered her best Lady Hampshire mien, and said, "I beg your pardon. You must be …" She turned back to face him. The color drained from Maggie's face. She felt a shiver ripple through her.
"Evan Hanley, at your service." He completed her sentence for her with a deep bow.
"You!" Maggie cried. "You … it can't be."
"You are the second woman to react to me that way recently. I must have a doppelganger somewhere, Miss?" He smiled. "Miss?" he asked again.
Maggie recovered herself enough to say, "Lady—Lady Hampshire."
Evan continued in a genial voice, "Well, I don't believe we've met before, Lady Hampshire. I certainly would have remembered. Do you believe in the notion of doppelgangers? The notion that each of us has an exact double somewhere in the world—living a completely different life." When she said nothing, only examined him through suspicious eyes, he continued. "Well, I'm quite certain of it. Otherwise, I'd not have this effect on total strangers. Have I shocked you?"
"No," Maggie returned in a small voice. "It's just that you do very much favor someone I once knew. So much so that I thought you must be him, though I realize that's impossible."
"Oh? And why is that?" he asked.
"Because he lived—and died—far from here," she said.
"I see." He went on, "Well, now that we've been properly, if somewhat unorthodoxly introduced, may I ask what you're doing here, in my private study?"
"How embarrassing," she said. "I do seem to have made myself at home. I was told that you have a rich and interesting collection from your travels. My curiosity to see it got the better of me. I actually came on matters of business," she turned the conversation without waiting for his response to her explanation. "I understand that Edward Collins took the liberty of engaging your services on my behalf."
"Yes. He gave me the duplicate of your late husband's last will and testament that you dispatched to him, and I've made a number of inquiries already. Frankly, I'm expecting a cable today or tomorrow in response."
"So there's nothing you can tell me?" she pressed him.
"I prefer to wait until I have all of the information. Let's plan to meet again tomorrow."
Maggie was crestfallen. She longed to ask him about the box then and there, but she was afraid to tip her hand too soon. "Tomorrow, then. I prefer to meet here if you don't mind," she added.
"Of course. How do you like Collinwood, Lady Hampshire?" he asked cordially.
She wasn't quite sure what to make of his question, and she was still somewhat disconcerted from his resemblance to a man from her past. "How do I like it? Why, I like it just fine. Edward takes prodigiously good care of me."
"Yes, I can imagine," Hanley responded with a knowing gleam in his eyes. This gave way, as he asked, "And Judith—Miss Collins—how is she?"
"I'm afraid we've not been introduced. I understand she's been unwell and prefers to keep to her room."
Evan turned away from her. "Still? I see," he said turning back to face her.
Maggie could see at once from his expression and the manner in which he inquired how things stood for Evan Hanley. She continued, "But she's expected to join us for dinner this evening. If so, I'd be happy to give you a full account tomorrow."
"Thank you, Lady Hampshire," he said with a bow of his head.
"My friends call me, Kitty," she said.
"And mine call me, Evan," he returned. "And now, I've just returned from travel, Kitty, and I'm anxious to refresh myself. But first, I'd be happy to deliver you to the Great House in my carriage."
"No, thank you, Evan. I prefer to walk. There's plenty of daylight still, and I've been craving some exercise. I'll come again tomorrow—without Edward, if I can arrange it."
"Just tell him I've asked to speak to you alone. He'll bristle, but I daresay he'll accede to your wishes."
She said, "I believe we're going to get along famously, Evan."
He walked her to the door where they said polite farewells.
Maggie traversed the distance between the attorney's home and the Great House at a leisurely pace. Each step served to help her counter the shock she'd experienced upon meeting Evan Hanley. Perhaps he'd been right. Perhaps doppelgangers did exist. And if so, perhaps they transcended time. Or perhaps the man she knew as Nicholas Blair in 1968 was descended from Evan Hanley.
This train of thought led her directly to Barnabas Collins. Another Barnabas Collins existed in this time. This made three—the one who lived in the 1700's whose portrait hung in the foyer of the Great House, the one she met here, and the one who lived at the Old House in her own time. And in each case, the family resemblance was so strong that it called to mind this notion of doppelgangers.
As the Great House came into view, Maggie set this aside and turned her thoughts to the immediate. She must return to the house and once again become Lady Hampshire. She sighed. She was still stranded in this time and had no idea how to get home to Collinwood in 1969—to Quentin and the friends she left behind there.
Arriving at the house, Maggie hung Kitty's cloak on a hook in the entryway. She paused momentarily in the foyer. It was unlikely Edward had returned from the cannery. She suddenly felt at loose ends. Perhaps she should seek out Jamison and Nora, and engage them in a game or read them a story. They must be terribly lonely with the household situated as it was. And in her previous life, before marrying Gerald, Kitty had been a governess, so it should seem natural that she would have an interest in the children. But then Maggie thought how unfair it would be to them. She was only looking for a way to pass some time, but they might develop some attachment, only to have it taken away when she returned to 1969—it wasn't fair.
Instead, she would select a book from the library and sit by the fire and read. In her own time, she would have liked nothing better. But here, where she desperately needed to find a way home, it felt like marking time … marking time until what? Until she discovered whatever it was she needed to do to return home.
She found the library door open, so she went in and began looking around. As she perused the shelves, she missed the murder mysteries that Elizabeth Stoddard had tucked away discretely in a corner. Here she found mostly histories, books on local botany and wildlife, and classical works guaranteed to put her to sleep. A history would be best, she supposed.
"Lady Hampshire."
Maggie heard a voice behind her, and turned to greet its source. "Miss Bouchard," Maggie said graciously. "But I thought we agreed last evening that you must call me, Kitty."
"Very well—Kitty," the blond woman returned, a rigid smile fixed firmly on her face.
Now in the afternoon sunlight, Maggie could see her features much more clearly than on the previous night. Her features were those of Roger Collins's second wife Cassandra. Cassandra had dark hair, but those eyes and the set of her mouth—those were the same. Another doppelganger? she wondered.
"I'm glad I've found you alone," Angelique continued. "I was hoping to have a word with you, woman-to-woman," she said, in a tone that implied greater intimacy than existed between the two women.
"Of course. What's on your mind?"
"Well, it's just that I couldn't help but notice how Mr. Collins behaved toward you."
Maggie tamped down the impulse to tell her to mind her own business. Instead she said, "Edward and my late husband, Gerald, had been friends for years."
Angelique interrupted her. "You misunderstand me, Kitty. I meant Mr. Barnabas Collins, my fiancé. You must have noticed how he looked at you. You see, Kitty, I believe that you remind him of someone he once knew—someone who died quite tragically."
"I am sorry, but I don't see …" Maggie began, only to be interrupted again.
"I am completely devoted to Barnabas, and I won't have you or anyone else come between us," Angelique said with a smile so deep her dimples seemed to be etched into her cheeks. "Stay away from him, Kitty, because I don't look kindly on interference in my affairs …" she hissed.
"Ah, Kitty and Angelique, here you are." Edward entered the room and inadvertently put an end to Angelique's incipient threat. "I hope your day wasn't too very taxing," he said to Kitty.
"Not at all," Maggie responded in an uneasy voice.
"Good, good." Edward looked around as though wondering what to say next.
Angelique spared him by saying, "I'm so glad you're here, Edward. I've decided to take you up on your generous offer to occupy the suite of rooms in the east wing. It's well past time for me to leave the Inn and feel settled somewhere—until I settle at the Old House, that is."
"Of course, Angelique," Edward responded. "Name the date."
"Why—tomorrow, I think. Now that the decision is made, I see no need to wait. I've only a few trunks to be delivered," she said to Edward though her eyes never left Maggie's. "Well," Angelique announced, "I must go back to the Inn to dress for dinner and make arrangements for my trunks to be sent over." She smiled a smile that Maggie thought could cut glass. Then she swept from the room, leaving Edward and "Kitty" on their own.
When Angelique was gone, Edward said, "Come join me in the drawing room, Kitty. The fire is lit and we'll be much more comfortable there until it's time to dress for dinner." He offered her his arm and escorted her to the drawing room.
The mention of dinner sent a small shiver through Maggie. How could she sit at the table with Barnabas and Angelique after their recent encounter? It was clear that Angelique hated Kitty and her presence at Collinwood. But she could hardly tell Edward what transpired between them.
Edward led "Kitty" to the corner of the davenport nearest the fireplace. She sat for a moment simply enjoying the warmth of the fire. Edward sat close beside her. "I'm so glad you've come home, Kitty," he began. She angled herself toward him, while still trying to stay within range of the room's source of heat.
"So am I, Edward," she said.
He laid his hand on hers and said, "I don't just mean coming home to Maine. I hope you'll consider Collinwood your home—for as long as you're here—for as long as you like."
"Edward, you're so kind," Maggie said in an exaggeratedly sweet voice.
"You must know that it's more than kindness," Edward said as he brought his face to "Kitty's," his lips seeking hers.
In that moment, all Maggie could picture was Roger—David's father, Carolyn's uncle—and then she realized with force the fact that he actually was Quentin's brother. "Oh," Maggie trilled as she artfully collapsed into the corner of the couch in a "faint."
"Kitty? Speak to me, Kitty," Edward clucked and patted her hand.
Maggie held her pose for nearly a full minute for maximum effect. Then she let her eyes flutter open. "What happened?" she asked.
"Kitty, my dear, are you all right?"
"I'm not sure," Maggie began. She brought a hand to her forehead for emphasis. "What happened?" she repeated.
"Don't you remember?" Edward asked. "You fainted, my dear. I blame myself," he said.
"Oh?" Maggie said.
Edward colored. "I know it's too soon after … well, I hope you know that I'm very fond of you, Kitty. I know it's too soon, only don't rule it out completely—you mustn't believe that you'll never find love again."
Maggie was genuinely touched by his words, "Edward," she began in her quest to let him down gently.
But he held up his hand and stayed her next words, "I'm so sorry, Kitty. I pressed you too far, too soon. But I don't want to leave any doubt as to my feelings for you. I hope, in time, after you've mourned Gerald, you'll come to feel the same about me as I do about you."
With a steadying hand from Edward, Maggie pushed herself up to sitting. "I don't know what to say," she said demurely.
"You needn't say anything right now," he responded.
Seeing that she might turn her "fainting spell" to her advantage, she asked, "Edward, would you be very upset with me if I forego dinner and have a tray sent to my room this evening? I still feel rather weak." She poured it on.
"Upset—no, disappointed—of course. It will be a dreary meal without your presence, but I understand. Perhaps I should send for Dr. Woodard?"
"No," she said firmly. "I don't think that's necessary. Besides, I'll feel so foolish explaining what led to my fainting spell," she added pointedly.
He took the hint. "You're quite right. I'll see you to your room."
He offered her his arm. She took it and leaned on it for support, though she needed none. Then they exited the drawing room. Stepping into the foyer, Maggie saw at the top of the stairs a woman descending who could only be Judith Collins. It was as Quentin had always said—Judith was remarkably like Elizabeth Stoddard in appearance. But Judith was quite pale; she looked drawn and thin. One hand tightly gripped the banister for support as she alighted the stairs; the other was at her throat, gently wrapped around the high collar of her evening dress.
"Judith!" Edward began, genuinely pleased to see his sister out of her room of her own initiative.
"Is Barnabas here?" she asked.
"Not yet," Edward replied stiffly. "Judith, may I present Kitty Soames, Lady Hampshire."
Judith gave "Kitty" a swift, dismissive nod before continuing, "But he is still expected for dinner?"
"Yes," Edward answered in a stern, irritated tone. "He and Angelique are expected shortly. I'm afraid Kitty is unwell and won't be able to join us, but I hope that you two will become friends in due course," he added in a lighter tone.
But Judith's eyes seemed blank to Maggie, and her affect and response reflected a preoccupation that was elsewhere. Judith said, "I'll be waiting by the fire until Barnabas arrives." With that, she crossed the foyer and entered the drawing room, presumably to await Barnabas's arrival.
As "Kitty" and Edward ascended the stairs, Maggie observed, "She certainly seems devoted to your cousin."
"Yes, they've grown quite close in recent weeks. It seems that he alone fills the void left by my brother's departure. But I do worry," he sighed.
"Oh?" Maggie invited him to say more.
"Yes, I worry that the situation is untenable."
"What do you mean?" Maggie asked.
"Only this—while it's not unheard of for cousins to wed, especially distantly related ones, Barnabas is engaged to Angelique. I don't understand Judith's sudden devotion to a man who is unavailable to her." By now they had arrived outside of Kitty's room. "It's another reason I'm so happy about your presence here, Kitty. Judith needs a friend and confidant."
"Surely with Angelique taking up residence in the east wing, she and Judith will become better friends. Perhaps it will help her see that a relationship with Barnabas is impossible, or perhaps Barnabas has simply taken Quentin's place as the object of Judith's worry and concern, and she has no romantic designs on him," Maggie said.
She slid her arm free from Edward's. But Edward took her hands in his. "Perhaps," he smiled. "Kitty, you are wise as well as beautiful," he said and brought her hands to his lips. He kissed them gently. "Goodnight, Kitty."
When Barnabas rose that evening, he was surprised though not displeased, to find his servant, Sandor, waiting for him instead of Angelique. In the weeks since they struck their deal—he would give her a year, and at its end, he was free to decide their future—he welcomed her daily presence. Until now, he had been content. So this was deeply unsettling. As the sun set and released him to live at night, he emerged from his coffin thinking not of his fiancé, who dutifully met him each evening, but of Kitty Soames—Lady Hampshire, who he was sure was his own Josette reincarnated.
He was worried though. He should not have allowed Angelique to see his true feelings. He should not have spoken as he did. In doing so, he had put Kitty Soames at risk. He had been overwhelmed by his emotions—by seeing Josette again—by recognizing that though her name might be different, she was his own Josette. He would not betray himself to Angelique again. He would be more careful in his quest to claim Josette for his own. The quest would begin that evening at dinner.
Barnabas went directly to the Great House. He would ask the housekeeper to telephone the Inn, and relay the message to Angelique that she should hire a carriage to bring her to the Great House that night. But when he arrived, he found Angelique already there waiting for him.
He could hear her voice punctuated by laughter emanating from the drawing room doors. His energy suddenly dissipated. He removed his caped coat and hung it by the door. He had hoped for some time on his own there before she arrived, but it was not to be.
He went to the doorway and surveyed the scene. Edward stood with his back to the fireplace sipping a sherry. Angelique sat in the armchair, as though holding court. A diminished version of Judith sat in the corner of the couch. She looked remarkably pale and drawn. He blamed himself for that, and yet found it necessary. Kitty was not yet there.
It was Judith who first noticed—or perhaps sensed—Barnabas standing in the doorway. "Barnabas, you've come at last," she said with more vitality than was reflected in her appearance. "Please join me," she continued, patting the couch beside her. Barnabas graciously inclined his head to her, crossed the room, and sat where she indicated. "It's been too long since I last saw you," Judith began.
"We were here last evening," Barnabas said. "But you'd already retired."
Edward made a dismissive snort in the back of his throat.
"I would have exerted myself had I known you'd be here," Judith said. Her soft gaze never left Barnabas.
"The mistress of Collinwood should always try to exert herself," Edward said in a stern voice.
Barnabas intervened to protect his enthralled cousin. "And where is your guest, Edward, Lady Hampshire?"
Edward felt the flush of embarrassment suffuse him. "Kitty—Lady Hampshire—is indisposed," he stammered.
"I am sorry to hear it," Angelique chirped.
"As am I," Barnabas concluded. His wary eyes fixed on his nominal fiancé.
Dinner proved to be a tedious affair. Instead of being able to watch, and listen to Kitty Soames, Barnabas had to content himself with making discrete inquiries of Edward, while Angelique was engaged in conversation with Judith. It was unsatisfactory to say the least. He must settle for small nuggets of information about her past, all the while seeking to confirm what his heart already told him was true—that Kitty was, in fact, Josette DuPres reborn.
When the four retired to the drawing room after dinner, Barnabas found the pull too great. He found it impossible to know that she was there, under the same roof, in the same house, and yet he was not to see her. He must—he must find a way.
The others carried on their insipid conversation; it sounded like a dull buzzing in his ears. Then he could bear it no longer. When the moment presented itself, he said to Edward, "There is a family history in the library that I should very much like to borrow. Would you mind if I took it to the Old House for a few days?"
"No, of course not," Edward responded in a magnanimous tone.
"I'll just go now and retrieve it," Barnabas said.
"Would you like me to assist you, Cousin Barnabas?" Judith asked. "I know where every book is in the library."
"No, thank you, Judith. I know where to find this particular volume," Barnabas replied formally. And then to Angelique, he added, "When I return, we should take our leave."
Barnabas made immediately for the library. Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him. A single gas-lamp provided the room's only illumination. He went to the window and opened it onto a moonless night. He'd come with only one purpose—he must see her. Now he channeled one of the powers imbued by the curse of the vampire—the power to transform and then transcend the barriers that stood between him and Kitty.
The transformation allowed him to access her room; he materialized inside the alcove of her bay window. His heart called out to her—not by the name she now used—but by her true name, Josette.
You truly are my Josette, Barnabas thought. Now conflict tore at him. He longed for her. He longed to go to her—to take her in his arms and take her as his own—to feel her life-force pulse from her to him. His fangs appeared of their own volition. But it would be a hollow victory to have her that way—in thrall to him, but not of her own choosing.
He turned away from her. No, I mustn't, he thought. No, it must be the other way. She must choose to come to me—to join me—on her own. I must release Josette from the façade of Kitty Soames then she will remember the love that we had, and she will come to me.
Maggie stirred. She turned over then sat up. "Is someone there?" she called out. She fumbled to light the oil-lamp on the table beside her. The dim light grew enough for her to search the room with her eyes. There was no one, but the window had blown open and the breeze was enough to move the heavy curtains. She sighed as she slid out of the bed and went to secure the window.
She paused for a moment looking out at the familiar grounds of the estate below. Tomorrow she must find her way back to her own Collinwood.
By the time Barnabas rejoined the others, impatience permeated the room. Angelique was pacing; Judith kept looking to the doorway in anticipation of Barnabas's return. Edward alone seemed at ease. "Ah, there you are," he said upon seeing Barnabas in the doorway, book in hand. "I fear we've tried Angelique's patience."
"Not at all," she said, a rigid smile on her lips.
Barnabas said by way of explanation, "There are so many excellent volumes in the Collinwood collection. I found myself perusing them again. I'm sorry, my dear."
Angelique eyed him suspiciously. Her smiled never wavered as she said, "My only concern is that the hour grows late, and I must return to the Inn this evening."
"Must you leave already, Barnabas?" Judith asked.
"I'm afraid so. As Angelique said, it is getting late, but I promise I'll come again tomorrow," Barnabas replied. Already a plan was taking shape in his mind. He must be alone with Kitty. Then I will make her remember her true self … she will know that she is Josette … and that she is destined to be mine.
