Dark Shadows: Angelique's Descent

by Lara Parker

  “Barnabas. Good morning.”

  “Angelique.”

  “How is Sarah?”

  “Much better. It’s amazing, her illness disappeared as quickly as it had come.”

  Why did he say nothing? He had been willing to bargain last evening, but now he seemed oblivious. Surely he had not forgotten. She tried to quell her anxiety, but her eagerness was such that, since he had not mentioned his pledge to her, she felt she must broach the subject.

  “Barnabas?”

  He looked up.

  “How soon will you tell your family?” She forced gaiety into her tone. “It will be quite a surprise to them that we are to be married.”

  “What? We never spoke of marriage.”

  “We did. Don’t you remember? Once again you promised to marry me.”

  “But … I thought Sarah was going to die. I was desperate … forgive me, but you must know I would not make such a promise in any other situation … besides, I do not think your tea had anything to do with it. Herbal medicine is primitive and … it was a coincidence, that’s all. Surely you understand.”

  Angelique turned away, her face burning.

  “Don’t say any more. I do understand. I understand perfectly. I love you, but you cannot love me, and you cannot accept me as your wife. I must concede that you find me unworthy. That you always have. Your duplicity knows no bounds. You betrayed me in Martinique, and you have betrayed me once again, heartlessly, without shame, making rash promises only to secure your own desires.”

  Barnabas rose and stared into the fire. “Let me ask you something, Angelique. Could you accept me, become my wife, could you endure that, knowing my feelings for Josette?”

  “All I know is that I love you, more than anything … more than my life.”

  “Then … I won’t break my promise.”

  She looked at him, not believing what he had just said. He continued. “If you will accept me—as I am—then I will marry you, Angelique, and try to make you happy.”

  For a moment she was stunned. Then he looked at her, and somehow she found the words to answer him. “I will be an obedient and devoted wife throughout our married life,” she said, her heart soaring. “You are all my world, and I will love you and cherish you always.”

  * * *

  As was expected, Barnabas’s father exploded with fury. Nothing could have inspired his virulence more than for his son to marry beneath his rank. He felt certain that Angelique had taken advantage of Barnabas following his disappointment with Josette, and to him, the marriage was nothing more than “a devil’s bargain.” He insisted that she present herself to him.

  As she waited outside the drawing room, Angelique overheard Joshua Collins expostulating with Naomi, Barnabas’s mother. “Tact? Why do you insist on tact? Tact is not important when addressing a servant! Is this peasant girl your idea of a daughter-in-law?”

  So he is to be difficult, she thought. She vowed to remain composed and respectful, and not be intimidated. Naomi hushed him as Angelique entered the room.

  “Come here,” Joshua ordered her. “No, you are not to sit. Stand while I am speaking to you!”

  Angelique said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

  “So you wish to marry my son.”

  “He wishes to marry me, sir.”

  “He did not phrase it in that manner. His voice was completely lacking in emotion.”

  “It is not so when he speaks to me, sir.”

  Joshua paused. “Why do you wish to marry him?”

  “I love him.”

  He scoffed at this remark and turned his back on her. She could see that contempt for her had poisoned his heart.

  “A reason,” he said, “I find most incomprehensible.” He turned to Naomi, and said, “Her love has sprung from nowhere! Perhaps I don’t understand about love.”

  Naomi looked at Angelique, and she thought she saw some sympathy registered there.

  Joshua continued, “I find it appalling to speak of love between two people who can’t have spent more than an hour in each other’s presence.”

  Angelique felt she must defend herself. “I have spent many hours with Barnabas—”

  “You have taken gross advantage of him, in a time of personal grief.”

  “The circumstances are not important. We would have married anyway.”

  Joshua eyed her coldly. “Gentlemen are not in the habit of marrying servant girls.”

  His words stung, and she took a deep breath before responding. “I entered your house as a servant, sir. But I understand in this great democracy of yours it is no crime to rise above your station in life and change your circumstances.”

  Joshua continued to watch her carefully. “It is understandable that you would want to change your circumstances,” he said. “I have an offer for you.”

  “I have the only offer I desire, sir.”

  “How much do you want?”

  She was surprised. So that was his plan, to bribe her away.

  “I only want your goodwill, sir, and your blessing.”

  Joshua assumed a proud stance, lifting his chin. “That … you will never have!” He paused and his gray eyes appraised her coolly. “Ten thousand,” he said. “In gold. A small enough ransom to pay for my son’s future. What do you say?”

  She shook her head. “Surely you don’t believe I would—”

  “You want more?” He paused. “Twenty thousand and be done with it!”

  Angelique spoke slowly. “Monsieur Collins, there is no sum great enough for me to abandon Barnabas. I love your son and—”

  “Come, girl, think what you are doing. You could return to Martinique a wealthy woman. Open a shop, or buy a small plantation. You could be admired. A fine lady in your world. Whereas, if you insist on this … this connection, I will disown Barnabas and you will have secured both his dishonor and his penury.”

  So that was the way it was. Barnabas had still not been granted his inheritance. At one time, before she had been with Barnabas in Martinique, such a sum of money would have given her all she could desire. But now there was nothing she could ever want save the love of the man she worshiped. Her mind was clear, and she had never been more confident.

  “All I ask is that you try to accept me, Mr. Collins. I will always treat you with respect, but I do not love Barnabas for your fortune or his. I love him for his fine character, his generosity, and his noble spirit. I hope you will give me a chance. But if you do not, I fear your life will be all the lonelier.”

  Her eyes fell on Naomi, who looked up at her and smiled faintly.

  * * *

  Joshua was inflexible and refused to be placated. He raged at Barnabas.

  “I cut you off without a penny! I have written you out of my will, and you are no longer a member of this family. You will both leave this house, by nightfall, and never return. I will never speak to you again. I am no longer your father, and you are no longer my son.”

  Tenderhearted Naomi, however, gave Barnabas the deed to the old house as a wedding present, and there Angelique and Barnabas were to reside. The ceremony was to be a small affair; the only attendants were to be Naomi, who refused to question or chastise her beloved son, and Ben, who was Angelique’s sole acquaintance. Joshua refused to be present.

  Naomi, however, graciously accepted Angelique as Barnabas’s chosen bride, and she even found a simple white dress for Angelique to wear. Preparing for the ceremony in her room, Angelique looked at herself in the mirror. She was disappointed in the gown, but there was nothing she could do. She made some small adjustment with the sleeves and lifted the skirt to see if it would fall more gracefully, but it was stiff and of poor material. Wistfully, she remembered the watered taffeta in the shop in Martinique, when all her dreams had soared with love.

  That seemed so long ago, and she now had her wish: She had won him over at last, if not by love, then by weariness, and Barnabas was waiting for her downstairs in the drawing room. Suddenly Angelique drew back in disma
y, gasping at her reflection. It was impossible! How could that be? Her skirt was pure white, without blemish, but, to her horror, the dress in the mirror was streaked with blood!

  “You look very pretty,” Naomi said, obviously seeing nothing, as Angelique attempted to hide her shocked reaction. “My dear, what is it?”

  Angelique felt the fear crawl across her neck, but she tried not to reveal it. “I-I so wanted to look like a bride. And you were generous to give me this dress, but it is so … plain.” Naomi came up to her and pinned a small gold-and-ivory cameo to Angelique’s bodice. “This was my mother’s brooch,” she said. “I want you to have it.” And she kissed her gently.

  Angelique felt her thoughts swim when she looked down at the pin, and her eyes filled with tears.

  “Why, my dear, what is it?” Naomi said. “Why are you crying?”

  “I’m crying from happiness,” she answered, and it was partially true. “It has been so long since anyone was kind to me. I am so grateful to you. And I will never forget you.” Naomi embraced her with pity and affection, almost as though she understood Angelique’s distress somewhere in her own heart.

  The ceremony proceeded without incident, although the bride was vague and distracted. Barnabas pronounced his vows stiffly, as though he were performing a recitation, but he maintained his composure valiantly, and even smiled at Angelique as she pledged her love. At last she heard the Reverend’s final words, “By the powers invested in me, I pronounce you man and wife. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.” All Angelique could think was how joyless it all had been.

  “We should have had flowers,” she said sadly. “I love flowers, and there are so many where I come from.”

  “We have champagne,” said Barnabas with a determined effort at gaiety. “Ben, as the best man, you shall make the toast.” Ben lumbered out and returned with the champagne and the glasses, and set them on the table, while Naomi and Angelique stood waiting in silence. When Barnabas took up the bottle to pour a glass for Angelique, she felt the same creeping shiver of fear.

  Naomi gasped, and Barnabas drew back, his face a mask of disgust. To everyone’s horror, the champagne in the glass was viscous and crimson.

  “What is it?” Angelique whispered. “This isn’t champagne.…”

  “No!” Barnabas said, stupefied. “It—it’s blood!”

  She looked up and saw his face, contorted, not comprehending, and she dashed from the parlor and up to her room, where she looked wildly around at the walls, the windows.

  “You have come back, haven’t you? You never left me! Where are you now?” she cried. “Why must you torment me?”

  There was no answer, only the clawing of branches against the windowpanes. She ran and threw open the casement, stared down at the dark trees. “Answer me! Why will you never leave me be?”

  A cold blast of air struck her in the face, and she gasped and pulled back, slamming the casement, but the latch failed to catch and the window battered against the frame. All at once there was a shuffling sound outside her door. She whirled. “It’s you, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Answer me!”

  Incredibly, at that moment, she heard a tinkling sound, a musical chiming that she had never heard before. A music box, encrusted with jewels, stood open on the top of her bureau. Trembling, she walked toward it, wondering where it could have come from. It was exquisite, skillfully formed, with Baroque cupids in high relief and made of solid gold. Never had she seen anything more beautiful. Her heart soared as she realized that it must be a present from Barnabas, a wedding present, and she took it up tentatively. How could she have ever doubted him? He had bought her this beautiful gift. The delicate box played a charming tune, like rain on a silver drum, and she listened to it with her whole heart. She was about to go to him when the door flew open, and he was there.

  His face was livid. “Where did you get that?” he cried sharply.

  “It—it was here, on the dresser.”

  “Give it to me!” He snatched it away. Instantly she understood.

  “It’s hers, isn’t it! It’s Josette’s!”

  He answered her vaguely, “No, it’s mine.”

  “But you bought it for her, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, yes…”

  “Why is it here? Why is it in my room? I found it here.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know how it came here. But it won’t be for long!” He turned and strode from the chamber, as she screamed after him.

  “You love her! You love her still!” The door was slammed in her face. Furious, she reached for the handle to follow him, and flung it open.

  “You love her—” She gasped and pulled back, staring out at the appalling, unbelievable thing standing in the hallway, some man, but not a man, some creature whose face was wrapped in tattered rags, streaming with blood and pus. She smelled the odor of rotted flesh, and her eyes stung with the foul emanations of a walking corpse. Something about the figure was familiar, and beneath the filth of the attire she recognized the brocaded waistcoat that had belonged to Jeremiah.

  “No-o-o-o-o!” she screamed, backing away. “Stay away from me!” But the apparition approached her, reaching out. As he drew closer, she could see that one eye had fallen from the socket and lay against his cheek.

  “Why are you here? Who sent you?”

  The frayed lips did not move, but the voice echoed from within the decaying body, a guttural monotone that bubbled with phlegm.

  “You have disturbed my rest.”

  “No! No! I did not!”

  “You must be punished for what you have done. You must learn what it is to live without peace in the land of the dead.”

  She stood her ground and threw up her hand to stop him, but he continued to approach, his bony fingers stretched out before him like a blind man. In the iciest voice she could muster, she intoned the Devil, searching for the force within her limp, terrified body. “I-I call on you, Dark Spirit … Beelzebub … to save me! Return this phantom to his grave!” But her incantation was feeble, and Jeremiah did not stop his slow shuffling. She screamed, “Go! Back to the earth of which you are a part! I command you to go!”

  The voice whined, “You will not sleep until I sleep. You will have no rest until I have my eternal rest.”

  “Who controls you? Whose power are you following?” she shouted, hysterical now, but he had her, and her screams were in vain. He lifted her in his oozing arms and pressed her to him, burying her face in his emaciated chest, and he flew with her, out the window and down among the trees. She fainted, and when she awoke, he was standing beside her, and she was lying in an open grave.

  She could see the walls of newly excavated dirt surrounding her, and she could smell the putrid odor of the dead, as the fiend began to shovel the moldy soil over her face.

  She screamed, “Ben! Ben! Help me!” But her lungs filled with dust, and blackness closed in on her. The weight of the earth was on her body, pressing down on her more as each shovelful fell, and there was no air—no air left—in her lonely tomb.

  * * *

  Unconsciousness had folded around her mind when she felt Ben’s thick fingers in her mouth, digging for the dirt, and she heaved up with spasms of choking and coughing as he lifted her out of the hole.

  “You’ve done it now, haven’t you?” he said, not unkindly. “Something turned on you for a change.” Roughly, he brushed the grime from her face and dress, then picked her up and carried her, still whimpering, back to the house.

  She sobbed and babbled incoherently, her voice smothered in his neck. “He came for me! He tried to kill me! I’ll never do anything again, Ben. I’ll never cast another spell. I won’t!”

  He placed her in the empty bed, and she remembered, as he pulled the cover over her, that this was her wedding night, the night she had dreamed of and longed for through years of loneliness. She felt for the brooch Naomi had given her and found it gone. “Ben,” she said in a hoarse whisper, “please … go back … I’ve lost the came
o, the gift from Barnabas’s mother … find it, please … it’s in … the grave.…”

  Thirty

  Suspicion reigned in the Collins household. The many untoward occurrences were adding up to one thing—the presence of a witch. Even those who had eschewed superstition were swayed. Joshua seethed with contempt for the whole idea, but he was helpless to explain Barnabas’s choking, Sarah’s sudden illness and just as sudden recovery, Josette’s reversal of affections, not to mention his own son’s inexplicable marriage to a common servant girl. Even Ben had fallen prey to the sorcery, for he had been caught robbing graves late one night, and was now in the county jail.

  The word witch was irrationally and irresponsibly bandied about among the members of the Collins family, but everyone in his or her own way was unable to explain what was referred to as “these strange goings-on.” The time had come for Angelique to protect herself. Even Barnabas looked at her now with a cold expression in his eyes. She knew the signs would point in her direction if people began to investigate, and her only choice was to throw suspicion onto Phyllis Wick. The hapless governess with her gloomy manner was the perfect culprit.

  The family, so concerned about what the countess continued to refer to as “an evil force in this house,” meaning the house where Barnabas now resided with Angelique, had summoned the Reverend Trask a second time, and he had agreed to perform an exorcism. Barnabas, taking pity on Phyllis, and believing her to be innocent, had given her shelter in an upstairs room, where she was hiding from the accusations of Trask, too terrified to face him. The stage, therefore, was set for Phyllis Wick to be exposed.

  Angelique decided to build a house of cards—tarot cards. The countess, who possessed several decks, had left a set in the parlor. It seemed fitting that the countess, who had begun all the talk of witchcraft, should now supply the means for Angelique to make the spell of her own disguise.

  Angelique retired to her old room in the servants’ quarters, where she knew no one would find her. The window was close enough to the front door for her to hear the ravings of the charlatan, Reverend Trask, who was soon to begin his invocation. How impotent his powers were compared to hers! The so-called Reverend was a feeble quack, but he would be useful nevertheless, and his flaccid conjurations would serve their purpose.