Chapter 5
"Burke is alive, Carolyn, I know he is. I know it."
Vicky Winters, November 1967
October 20, 1971 - Wednesday
Collinwood
The fallout from this morning's discovery could have been worse.
Elliot Stokes had arrived early to take Tisa to breakfast; Julia had been at him to get his mind off the coming baby, who wouldn't arrive til January, and spend some time with his here-right-now niece. David and Hallie were with Maggie on a science field trip to explore and photograph the marshy areas of Goat Pond before it froze over. When Elizabeth's plight was discovered, Maggie had quickly taken the teens on the impromptu field trip.
And so Roger had the floor to himself, which was just as well.
Summoned by Julia, Barnabas rushed into the drawing room to find his cousin stalking back and forth, shouting curses and threats.
"Why Liz?" Roger was interrogating the ceiling. "Of all the people in Collinsport, in this country, on the planet, why Liz? She's the last woman who would ever hurt anyone, and now here she is, ravaged and bitten!" He stopped pacing in the middle of the room and swayed, his fists against his eyes. "More madness and mayhem for Collinwood! I simply won't have it. I refuse! That revolting lunacy at our dinner party back in April, David vanishing in the east wing this summer, and now this! Right on schedule! Oh, damn all this ungodly mumbo-jumbo, what has our family ever done to deserve the evil that constantly nips at us? I ask you!" Roger whirled on Barnabas. "It's that thing in the newspaper, isn't it? Those dead children—that same monster has gotten into Collinwood!"
"Roger," Barnabas said in a soft voice, extending his hands toward his cousin, "sit down. Julia and Elliot and I have been thinking about this since yesterday, when we saw the announcement in the newspaper. Be quiet, I'll get you some sherry."
"Brandy," Roger corrected automatically.
"Brandy, yes, very well. Now listen." Barnabas pushed Roger toward the sofa, then turned to the liquor cabinet.
"Elliot's widely versed in the occult—he's a college professor, don't forget—and he's going to figure out who is doing this. You know that we have seen this before," he said, his guts clenching at his own soft words of comfort. He didn't want Roger to know just how deep his and Julia's experience ran; Roger had no inkling that Barnabas had himself been undead at one time. He poured brandy into a crystal glass and approached his cousin with it. "We know how to find these creatures, and the moment we do, Elizabeth will be restored. Collinwood's been through this before, and we've always won."
Roger panted, close to hysteria. It was a tossup, Barnabas felt, as to whether his cousin would continue to gnaw the woodwork for twenty minutes more, or drop suddenly into piercing melancholy. As he poured a small drink for himself, he kept Roger in his peripheral vision.
Abruptly, Roger slumped into the couch cushions. "If I ever find out which of my ancestors brought down all this madness on the family," Roger swore dully, "I'll burn every last book of the Collins family history."
"I'm sure that won't be necessary."
"What a horrific year this has been," Roger whispered. "I don't understand. Nothing but strife and uproar." He lifted his glass and took a long swallow.
Barnabas smiled. "I wouldn't say that!" he countered. "You met Veronika this year, and won her heart; you're an engaged man. You'll be married this December. Good heavens, so will I." he chuckled. "Elizabeth met Cary; what a brother-in-law he'll make you if they decide to wed. And, last but not least, you hired Coterie food service. Having edible food at Collinwood for the first time in ages has changed everyone's life for the better. And you have your own chef training in your new kitchen. Harry Johnson has certainly found his calling. Thus far, I'd say that this has been a marvelous year."
Roger grunted. "I need Veronika. I wish she were here."
"She's at the clinic?"
"Yes, this is Wednesday, her long day. I don't dare bother her." Roger sipped the drink, then raised shattered eyes to Barnabas. "What's going on upstairs? What ... what are we going to do?"
"Julia's up there talking with her," Barnabas said, taking a chair. "She's going to find out what she can, but probably Liz will be able to disclose nothing. Then, Roger, I think we have to protect Liz. Get her somewhere where the fiend won't be able to revisit her."
Roger sat forward, dangling his glass, his eyes unseeing. "I'll take her to Bangor," he whispered, "or Augusta. We'll leave right away. This means taking the children with me—and Maggie. I'm not leaving Maggie in danger. We'll all go. We'll make arrangements, pick a hotel …"
Barnabas noticed that Roger had left Tisa out of his proposed rescue effort. Had he forgotten her, or did he dislike her too much to think of taking her as well?
He cleared his throat. "That wasn't exactly the idea I had. Roger, we need to isolate Elizabeth from further attack. What if you were to take her to Bangor, and she gave you the slip? You know that she's going to try. It would be disastrous, you alone out there and all of us back here. Based on what we know of this sort of ... malady, the fiend will summon her. If we have her in a place where she can't respond ..."
Roger raised his head, his eyes bleak. "There is no such place. What, do you mean keep her in the hospital under drugs? Do you mean Windcliff? I don't know what you're getting at," he said dully.
"My thought was to lock her in the Collins Family crypt."
Barnabas had unsettling doubts about this, but had nevertheless conceived a rough security plan. Put Elizabeth in the crypt with bedding and warm clothes. She'd be clanking with crucifixes; crosses and crucifixes would be scattered liberally all over the room—he certainly had some of the paraphernalia. They could send Willie on a lightning trip to Bangor to get more. And couldn't they cover every outside surface of the crypt walls with crosses, even if they had to paint them on, so that the vampire couldn't approach? Would that work? He searched his memory. Had he himself ever penetrated a barrier protected by crosses, even by shapeshifting to a bat? Could a ring of salt do anything, wasn't that supposed to keep out evil? He shut his eyes. He didn't know anything about it, but Elliot would. Elizabeth herself would not be able to leave the crypt. Perhaps Willie could take up guard duty outside. Or was that a bad idea? Barnabas didn't want anyone else bitten. He'd have to talk it over with Elliot. If Elliot approved of guards, Willie would need help. Barnabas thought hard. In addition to Roger, Elliot and himself, Quentin was in town, and Joe Haskell; the handyman Garvey was here at Collinwood, as was Harry Johnson. He knew that all of the men would drop everything to protect Elizabeth.
But from whom? Who had done this vicious thing? And anyway, a guard could be mesmerized by a vampire, and compromised.
It occurred to him that Cary Olivo, Elizabeth's gentleman friend, was due back this week from Europe. His heart fell. What would Cary be coming home to?
"Elliot will track down the fiend and destroy him," Barnabas promised Roger, who didn't seem to hear him. Even as Barnabas said the words, he felt rage boil in his chest. He was pretty certain he knew who the infidel was.
Lars Castlewold.
Barnabas had been sizing up that gentleman since their encounter last night at the rink. Commanding, easy, and physically powerful, Castlewold fit exactly Barnabas' idea of a vampire. While there had hardly been anything threatening about him, the man had a dynamic presence that Barnabas thought he recognized from the terrible days when he himself had been undead. He could easily see Castlewold creating the false persona of cheerful hockey scout to lull townsfolk, convincing them that he was just a harmless visitor while creeping closer to their children.
But what if he was wrong? He was the last person on earth to believe that a vampire had to be male; he himself had known more than one female vampire. And they were strong as hell. But who else was there?
Perhaps the monster was this Kim Jansing, whom only Roger and a couple of others at Collinwood had met thus far. Working above the cannery, the man was in close proximity to Roger. Had Jansing decided for some reason to follow Roger home and infiltrate Collinwood? If so, why Collinwood? And why on earth had Jansing asked Roger to rent him space above the cannery of all places? It was patently absurd. And yet, just like Castlewold's mostly abandoned skating rink, the cannery was empty a good portion of the time, and was a big, sprawling place, with endless dark corners. If the cannery's upper floors were unused, they would make an attractive den for a creature needing somewhere to keep a coffin. Choosing a lair several stories up, away from the earth it loved to lie in, was unusual for a vampire, but surely it wasn't unheard-of. His worry deepened. He was determined to collect Elliot and Julia as soon as possible and pay a visit to Mr. Jansing. This would mean bringing Roger with them with his keys, to guide them to the loft, since none of the rest of them was familiar with the cannery interior.
And there were four strangers in Collinsport, he reflected, not just these two. There was Tisa, and there was Burke Devlin. But Burke was no stranger.
He felt uneasy about Tisa. Though he trusted Julia's professional assessment of the girl, he wanted to evaluate her himself. He hadn't even met her yet, but from all he'd heard thus far, the girl struck an alien note at Collinwood. Roger didn't like her; Hallie was frightened of her, reportedly with good reason. Barnabas did not want Elliot's niece to be the creature they sought, but she would have to be deeply investigated.
And Burke. Where had he been for the past four years? By some devastating mischance, could he have been made a vampire, one that had now come home to hunt? But of all the candidates, Barnabas doubted Burke most of all. He knew Burke from the past and had seen him up close last night, and had sensed nothing out of the ordinary. Or perhaps he had. Yes, there had been something odd about Burke. He'd obviously undergone some sort of tremendous challenge or trial, but just in being near the man, Barnabas had sensed ... he tried to identify it. An undercurrent of what? Anger? Rage was more like it. Blinded as Barnabas had been by the unexpected emotion he'd felt last night, hadn't he also detected a sense of rage in the room underneath the greetings they'd traded? He was only just realizing this now, but he had definitely sensed it last night. He'd have to see whether Julia had perceived anything similar.
His thoughts scattered as Roger muttered something.
"What did you say?"
"I said," Roger repeated, "who's been in the house? Who could have done this?" He drew his lips back and bared his teeth for an instant in anger and pain. "Tisa," he whispered. "She is the new element. Suppose Tisa did this."
Barnabas regarded Roger with concern. "What makes you say so? Why would you think Tisa responsible?"
"Because!" Roger cried. He shoved his glass onto the table in front of him. "Liz told me the other day that Tisa tried to bite Hallie. I wasn't even listening, I thought ..."
"Yes, I heard about that, but I understood from Julia that—"
"Listen to me. She tried to bite Hallie, do you hear me? I thought the entire caper just a bunch of stupid nonsense. But I remember the look on Hallie's face when I got home. And how does the incident strike you in light of what's just happened? I think Tisa is the creature. And under our own roof!"
"Isn't Tisa a nun?" Barnabas blurted, startled at Roger's vehemence.
Roger's eyes widened.
"Have you seen this girl?" he cried. "You wouldn't ask whether she's a nun if you saw what she's been wearing around this house. The clothes she wears are so tight, I keep thinking they're going to explode open and her bosom come jostling out onto her dinner plate! She looks like she's just come from a modeling agency—David's following her about like a mooncalf."
"David is? Well, I guess he would be. I keep forgetting that he's a teenager now."
"He most certainly is. Tisa was tossed out of her nunnery, or whatever it is, or chose to leave it. This is no nun we are sheltering here. Hallie is terrified of her. Oh, my God, why wasn't I paying attention? We have to remove Tisa from the house. We'll call the sheriff and tell him to take her into custody! We'll explain—"
"Wait, Roger," Barnabas said firmly. He set his glass on the table. "What we need to do is talk this out. Julia will be downstairs soon, and Elliot will be bringing Tisa back from their breakfast. Since the sun has risen, we have nothing to fear for Liz until this evening. What we must do right now is confer together, share our ideas, and figure this thing out, and in such a situation, Elliot is the best man to have."
Roger pressed his hands to his eyes, and Barnabas hesitated. A thought teased him, but before he could grasp it, it was gone. It had been stimulated by something Roger had said, or something that he himself had just said. Something wrong, having to do with Liz, Tisa, or Hallie.
He shook his head. Whatever the niggling image or idea had been, it had fled; perhaps it would recur to him later.
"Harry and Tish are up there," Julia said a little later as she entered the drawing room. "You know how they feel about Elizabeth. Mrs. Johnson was too upset and came downstairs."
Roger groaned. "I'd prefer it the other way about," he grunted. "I don't want my culinary staff stuck upstairs and that woman anywhere near the kitchen."
Harry Johnson had been living at Collinwood since the past spring when Elizabeth had learned he was recuperating from surgery in Rhode Island. Since his arrival, he had demonstrated a rather poignant devotion towards Elizabeth. While the Collinwood kitchen underwent renovation and a new stove was put in, the family had been obliged to hire a food service—a gourmet establishment called Coterie, which had brought young Tish Lemon into the house. Harry had shown a great flair for the culinary arts and had begun training as an associate with Coterie staff. In the end, Roger had refused to part with Coterie's services; he was unshakeable about retiring Mrs. Johnson from anything to do with food preparation, so Harry and Tish were now permanently installed. Roger's original disdain for Harry had transformed into appreciation once he realized that the man was a gifted cook. Combining their talents, he and Tish designed menus and produced meals that made Roger yell with satisfaction.
Mrs. Johnson had been relegated to 'house manager,' which meant she dusted, cleaned, supervised the linens, often acted as Elizabeth's secretary, and ordered handyman Garvey Craig about the house.
Julia sat beside Roger and put her hand on his.
"Elizabeth is quiet now," she told him. "She'll rest a little. You can probably go upstairs a bit later and speak with her. But as the day goes on, and we approach evening, she'll become more disturbed and upset."
"Hopefully we'll lay this fiend by the heels long before tonight," Roger spat.
Barnabas said, "Roger, I want you to take us to the cannery. Elliot and Julia and I want to meet Kim Jansing. You asked me rhetorically a moment ago who had been in the house lately, well, Jansing has been here. We wanted to meet him yesterday, but he'd already left."
"Yes," Roger sighed. "I missed him as well. The whole point of our inviting him to have cocktails was so that Elliot could meet him, and he could meet—Liz, but he came earlier than asked. And he did meet Liz; she's the one who let him in the door. David and Hallie were with him for a bit, so you might ask them their impressions. But I must tell you," he continued, raising his eyes to Barnabas, "that if you suspect Kim Jansing of having done anything to Elizabeth, you're probably quite wrong. I interviewed the man myself Monday morning, and he's a decent young person. Besides, I first met him by day, around eight in the morning. Don't these creatures need to keep out of sight from sunrise to sunset, or something? And Kim was here yesterday around three in the afternoon, so how could he then be a vampire?"
"You have something there," Barnabas said helplessly, "however, I feel that we have to meet him. Will you take us over there this morning, to his studio over the cannery?"
Roger rubbed his forehead. "There's something else, and I want to get it out before Elliot comes. Liz described to me how Tisa arrived here at Collinwood. When Liz opened the door, the girl was in a half-faint; Elliot literally carried her into the house. Liz told me it appeared as if the girl was trying to hide her face from the light. And she said Tisa was growling. When I heard the story I thought to myself, poor young woman, she must have been through an awful time. But now that Liz has been attacked, doesn't it all sound to you as though Tisa were the fiend? Growling? Evading daylight? Attempting to bite Hallie?"
He dropped his hands into his lap and looked at them with red eyes.
"It's obvious to me that Tisa is the monster. My son and Amy and Hallie need my protection, as does my household staff. We must drive Tisa from this house before nightfall."
Surreptitiously, Elliot watched his slender niece attack her breakfast.
She ate rapidly: a mountain of scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, an English muffin, and an orange. Apple juice. Coffee with plentiful cream and sugar. She behaved as though she'd known starvation, and Elliot wondered, not for the first time, about her past life in the convent. In the rare few letters he had ever received from her, Tisa had often mentioned the uninteresting morning meal of porridge. Did they really, he asked himself, offer the nuns nothing but Dickensian porridge for breakfast in this day and age? For most of her career in the Order, Tisa had been a teaching nun, responsible for classes full of children. Porridge didn't sound very nourishing for a young person with that kind of workload. He had understood that since Vatican II, the more draconian restrictions on nuns had been abolished. They were supposed to be able to choose their own clothing, their own friendships and society, furnishings, and so on. He had known a few young nuns at the college and had watched them blossom with Vatican II's changes. The traditional black habit had been left off, or was at least no longer mandatory. Could not Tisa even choose what food she wanted to eat? Had she been allowed to retire the habit and choose clothes more suitable to a young nun? Obviously not, he thought. How had this forced asceticism affected her all these years?
Used to assessing young people in his role of college professor, he studied his niece. She was dull and dispirited, and wore an air of restrained fear. It was as if there were a veil between her and what was happening around her. Elliot smiled inwardly at his pun.
Their waitress approached, and Tisa curled her arm protectively around her plate. His heart stirred in compassion. Did she imagine the waitress had come to snatch her breakfast from her?
"Can I get you anything else? More hot coffee?" the girl asked.
"Please, yes. Tisa, more coffee?"
Tisa's shoulders relaxed. "Yes," she whispered.
The waitress filled their cups and went back to the counter.
"How do you like living at Collinwood?" he asked. "I'm sorry we couldn't have you at the cottage; it's rather small, and I didn't think you would feel comfortable."
Tisa grimaced. "You don't have to pretend, Uncle Elliot. I know I'm not welcome there."
Elliot blinked. "What would give you that idea? Of course you're welcome in my home."
She suddenly looked upset. "I don't want to live with you. Don't try to force me."
"Sweetheart," Elliot said, leaning forward in concern, "you don't have to live with me. Nobody is going to make you do what you don't like or force you into something you don't want. That's what your new life is going to be about; being able to choose your own way."
Tisa looked at him angrily. "I will not be your babysitter. I know that's what you and that Angelique are planning: she doesn't want me now, but as soon as the baby comes, you'll try to install me permanently in your home as a wet-nurse for your baby, and let me tell you, I'm not going to do it. I'll leave town."
Elliot was aghast.
"Is that what you've been thinking about us all this time?" he asked quietly. "That we're going to trap you into taking care of our child when it comes? I must confess, the thought never entered my head."
She laid down her fork and looked at him for a long minute. "I don't know," she said faintly. "There's nobody I can trust. You don't know what happened to me down there, Uncle Elliot. You have no idea, and I can never tell you. I'm trying so hard to come back. I have to fight absolutely everything and everybody, so that I can ... come back. I have to come back." Her throat spasmed.
"Come back from what, honey?"
"From the dark," she said inexplicably.
Tisa often felt dead. She believed that she could go six or seven hours without breathing. Part of her fought back and knew the idea was insane, but that part was growing fainter. She had never felt dead as a girl! Not until about two years into her service as a nun, and then, it had been like being absolutely submerged in darkness. It was not something she thought she could explain to her uncle.
Before he could take a breath, she changed the subject.
"See these clothes?" she asked, plucking at her breast. "I swiped this sweater from Maggie. I'm also wearing her slacks and her shoes. Someone has to take me clothes shopping."
Elliot winced, realizing just how badly he had dropped the ball with his neglected niece. Of course the young woman needed clothes. He'd have to go home and speak with Angelique at once; she'd probably be delighted to take Tisa to a few boutiques.
He asked, "Would you like to go shopping with Angelique? Or perhaps Elizabeth? I'd be happy to act as chauffeur, and we'd stand you a grand lunch. How does that sound?"
"Mrs. Stoddard is sick," Tisa said shortly. Her tired eyes burned him. "She was going to take me to Bangor for clothes, but now she can't."
Elliot felt a stab of alarm.
"Liz is sick?" he asked. "What do you mean? Since when?"
Tisa shrugged. "There was a big stink this morning, people crying and Roger Collins barging around in circles. Mrs. Stoddard is locked up in her room. I think they said that she got bit by something."
"Tell me," Elliot said impulsively, as he hastily presented his check at the counter and clawed for his wallet, "is there a Burke Devlin staying at the Collinsport Inn, by chance?"
The waitress smiled and began to ring up his check with delicate fingers on the cash register keys. "He is," she affirmed. "But if you're looking for him, he's already been in and gone. He was here at the crack of dawn, before the cafe was even open; I don't think the sun had even risen yet."
Elliot brought his niece back to Collinwood, walking inside with her. Just as she had gone upstairs, the drawing room doors opened and he was beckoned inside, where they broke the news. Julia described to him Elizabeth's symptoms and current condition.
"You're certain, doctor?" Elliot cried. After a moment of sorrow and incredulity, he fumbled his way to a chair.
Barnabas closed the doors of the drawing room for privacy, and they outlined for Elliot their plans to call without delay on Lars Castlewold and Kim Jansing.
"Roger is taking us to the cannery to show us where Jansing is located," Julia told him. "If he's not in his studio, we'll just have to look around. Perhaps we'll find him sleeping somewhere on the grounds."
"Wait a moment, Julia. You mean to go to the cannery and the skating rink in hopes of catching one of these gentlemen asleep in a coffin. But the vampire won't be unprotected. Usually, these creatures have people to guard them whom they have bitten and enslaved." He tried not to look at Roger, aware of Elizabeth's similar plight upstairs. "If we try to break into the rink, or search the cannery, we can expect to meet with heavy resistance."
"You're all mad," Roger muttered. "Kim Jansing isn't the one you want, and Castlewold has been nowhere near the house. The author of all this disaster is upstairs at this very moment, rooting through Carolyn's dresser drawers."
Elliot leaned forward, drilling Roger with his eyes. "Meaning my niece. Then explain to me how it is that she and I just went out and had breakfast together in stark daylight? There are certain natural laws, Roger, that a vampire cannot simply flout, and one of them is the shelter of darkness. They can only act between sunset and sunrise."
Hollow-eyed, Roger sat back against the sofa cushions. "And normal young women don't go around biting other young women. I want her out of this house, Elliot."
"Done!" Elliot snarled.
"Please," Julia begged. "This is absurd. Let's leave Tisa for the time being, because Elliot's right—vampires cannot operate in the daylight. Let us go and check on Lars, and this Kim Jansing person."
Barnabas remembered the thought that had eluded him earlier.
"Castlewold is deeply tanned," he said, glancing from Julia to Elliot. "This morning while Roger and I were talking, I realized that you, Elliot, had come to take Tisa out to eat—in full daylight, as you point out. So Tisa can't possibly be the one we seek, regardless of what we think took place between her and Hallie. Elliot, Julia, do you remember how suntanned Lars Castlewold is? It struck me at the time. Perhaps going to the rink would be fruitless."
"Then again, perhaps not," Elliot put in. "A dark tan might be fake. Perhaps he is in reality pale as death, and bought some drugstore preparation to cover himself with. On the other hand," Elliot admitted, rubbing his forehead, "I saw a strong pulse beating in his throat the night we went to the rink with David. A vampire's veins are well-nigh inert, so I cannot rightly believe that Castlewold is the one. We'll know when he reacts or doesn't react to the cross."
"Kim Jansing is suntanned," Roger said dully. "And I met the man myself Monday morning, as I was just telling Barnabas and Julia, and he wasn't lying in a coffin at the time. All of you are deliberately closing your eyes to what is going on here."
"The point is," Elliot said, ignoring Roger, "we must go right now and see for ourselves. Sitting here arguing gets us no answers. Therefore, Roger, please take us to the cannery. Now, this minute."
"To the Old House first," Barnabas reminded them, "for crosses, and possibly some wooden stakes."
Roger groaned.
"Roger, has Kim Jansing a phone up in the studio?" Julia queried. She glanced at the others. "I think it might be a good idea to phone each man, see if anyone picks up. We needn't say anything."
"No, Julia, there is no telephone connection in the cannery loft," Roger told her. "And where Kim is, he can't penetrate into the cannery to answer a ringing telephone."
"We can try phoning the skating rink," Julia persisted. "I take it that the place was refitted for Castlewold's arrival. The rink hadn't been shut down for a very long time, had it? It must have originally had telephone service."
"We'll try it," Elliot said, rising. "If a strange person answers, we'll know he has daytime protection. If he's the vampire. And if he himself answers, we'll know we're probably barking up the wrong tree. Let's ask him to lunch, shall we? I want to get to know both these men, and test them."
"Today is David's birthday," Roger said, apropos of nothing. "My God. With Liz the way she is—I'll have to think of something. We were going to have a small party for him this evening, but perhaps I'll just take him into town for a birthday lunch. Wherever he wants to go." He bit his lip.
Julia patted his arm, then strode to the phone. She dialed the operator and asked for the number of the Collinsport Skate Rink. The men watched her as she stood still, until she covered the mouthpiece and told them, "she's checking. The number's newly activated." Julia waited, then turned her attention back to the phone. Elliot fumbled at his breast pocket for pen and paper in case Julia began to recite a number.
She glanced at them as she chatted with the operator. "Yes, I can imagine. Yes, it is recent. Collinsport-Five, oh-one-seven-oh. Thank you." Eyes on Elliot as he scrawled the number, Julia pressed her fingers on the switch hooks to disconnect the call.
"She was able to confirm that telephone service was connected last week. I'll call it now." And she dialed.
The room waited. Roger rubbed his eyes and sighed.
Julia had counted twenty rings before the receiver was lifted on the other end, startling her.
"Hello?" Lars Castlewold said, out of breath.