Dark Angel (Casteel Series #2)

by V. C. Andrews

"Hello, Troy, it's nice to see you for a change,"

  she said without even looking his way. "But I didn't fly all this way just to talk to family I already know."

  Her eyes scanned me again from head to toe. "Yes, Jillian is right. This is Leigh's daughter. There is no mistaking the color of her eyes—just the way mine used to be until the years stole the best of my features.

  And that figure, it's Leigh's all over again, when she wasn't hiding it behind some shapeless garment. I never could understand how she could wear such clothes in such miserable winter weather as this." Her small eyes, lined with wrinkles, narrowed as she briskly asked: "Why did my granddaughter die at such an early age?"

  Down the stairs Jillian drifted, looking stunningly beautiful in a wine-red dress, very much like mine, except hers had a broad insert of jewels around the neck. "Oh, dear, dear Mother, how wonderful to see you again. Do you realize it's been five years since you came last?"

  "I never intended to come again," answered Jana Jankins, whose name had been kindly provided to me by Troy as Jana was being arranged in her seat.

  And even as I watched Jillian with her mother, I could almost smell the smoke of animosity between them.

  "Mother, when we knew you were coming, despite your leg cast, Tony very thoughtfully went out and provided you with a wonderfully handsome chair that used to belong to the president of Sidney Forestry."

  "Do you think I'd sit in a chair used by a killer of trees? Now don't mention the subject again. I want to hear about this girl here." And almost faster than I could answer she was plying me with questions, how had my mother met my father, and where had we lived, and did my father have money? And were there other family members she could meet.

  I was saved from making up more lies by the chiming of the door bells. Tony stepped out of his office looking like a fashion plate, and Thanksgiving began despite Jana Jankins, who just couldn't manage to out-shout everyone.

  Then, to my dismay, Jillian finally noticed me sitting as quietly and demurely—and as close to Troy—as I could manage. Jillian's eyes grew large.

  "Heaven, the least you could do is check with me about what color I'm wearing when we are entertaining."

  "I'll go and change mine right now!" I offered, about to jump up to change as quickly as possible, though I truly loved this dress.

  "Sit down, Heaven," commanded Tony. "Jillian is being ridiculous. Your dress is not bejeweled, or nearly as lavish as my wife's. I liked the dress when I saw it on you, and I want you to wear it."

  It was a strange kind of Thanksgiving dinner.

  First Jillian's mother had to be carried in and put at the end of the table (the hostess end, because Tony's chair was too near the wall), and once Jana assumed the role of hostess, she ruled, no one else. This great-grandmother of mine was rude, abrasive, and totally honest. It amazed me that Tony and Troy seemed so fond of her.

  Still, it was a tiring meal, an exhausting evening, during which I was plied with a thousand questions I didn't know how to answer unless I lied.

  When Jana asked me how long I'd be staying at Farthinggale Manor, I didn't know what to answer. I looked hopefully at Tony and saw next to him a steely-faced Jillian, who held her fork midway to her mouth and turned to Tony and glared as he began to rescue me. "Heaven has come to stay for as long as she likes," he announced, smiling first at me, then turning to Jillian and giving her a shut-up-or-else rictus. "She's already begun school at Winterhaven. In fact, she did so well on her entrance exams that she entered as a senior—a year ahead of her age group.

  And we've already applied to Radcliffe and Williams so she won't have to go too far away for a first-rate college. We're both so happy to have -Heaven here.

  It's a bit as if Leigh had at last returned to us, isn't it Jill?"

  All during this little speech Jillian had been shoveling food into her mouth, as if to cram it too full for any betraying words to slip out. She said nothing, merely glared at me. Oh, how I wished she could learn to love me. I needed so badly to have a real mother, someone I could really talk to, someone who could teach me how to be the right kind of woman.

  But I was beginning to realize that Jillian would never be that. Perhaps if she were more like Jana—rude and overbearing, but at least interested in getting to know me.

  Thankfully, Jana had little chance to do that. I spent the meal in agitation, afraid she would begin asking about my past again, afraid some truth would slip out and contradict what I'd told Tony. But the meal was finished amidst a din of small talk and soon after dinner Jana left for her elegant hotel in Boston.

  "I'm sorry I can't stay and get to know you better Heaven, but I've never been comfortable staying here at Farthy"---here she cast an accusing glare at Jillian —"and I must get back to Texas tomorrow. Perhaps you'll come and visit me sometime." And before she left she gave me a kiss on each cheek, making me feel that at least one female in the family had accepted me.

  Early the next morning, Tony tucked me into his most impressive limo, covered my legs snugly with a heavy fur rug, and we were off to Tatterton Toy Company for the official starting day of the Christmas season.

  I was stunned at the size of the store. Six floors of nothing but toys! It wasn't yet ten o'clock, and hordes of warmly dressed people crowded outside, staring into the display windows. Tony had a commanding way of pushing through the crowds until he and I were next to the steamy glass, our noses cold from staring in. Every window had a different theme, and I could have cried for the one with Tiny Tim without a goose, until the door popped open and Scrooge was there.

  The display windows impressed me so much I was breathless, like a child caught in a dream of riches. The salespeople were dressed in red, black, and white uniforms with lots of gold embellishments.

  To my surprise, even those who didn't look wealthy did their share of buying as well. "You can't tell a person's worth by their clothes anymore," said Tony.

  "Besides, everyone is collectible-conscious today."

  It wasn't until we reached the sixth floor that I spied the special glass and gold case containing the Tatterton Toy Portrait Dolls.

  I gave each young girl there extremely critical attention, before I asked Tony: "Who makes the portrait doll?"

  "Oh," he answered casually, "aren't they beautiful? We look the world over for young girls with special qualities, and then our best artisans make a portrait doll of them. It takes many months."

  "Was my mother of the type original dolls are modeled from?"

  Tony smiled before he turned his head my way.

  "She was the most beautiful girl I've ever seen—except for you. But she was a modest, shy girl, who didn't want to pose, so I lost my chance to immorta-lize Leigh . ."

  "You mean there never was a portrait doll of my mother?" Deep in my heart I felt waves of dread.

  Why wasn't he telling me the truth?

  "Not that I know of," he answered blandly, then directed me to the other toy attractions he wanted me to see.

  He tugged me off to show me historical dolls in authentic costumes. "Are you sure a portrait doll was not made of my mother, without your authorization?"

  "Nobody _does anything without my

  authorization. Now, please, Heaven, drop the subject.

  It's a sore one with me."

  Why was he looking like that? Why, as if what happened or didn't happen yesterday had nothing at all to do with today—when it did, it did!

  In my mind, the most important events had happened long before I was born, to create my life, to shape my world, to give me endless questions to ask that no one wanted to answer.

  After Tony finished showing me the store, he went to his office, and I stayed on in Boston to do my own Christmas shopping. What a thrill to do Christmas shopping, to have money to buy whatever presents I wanted to give those I loved. How exciting to walk in the crowds past gaily decorated shops and know that I could enter them without shame. I no longer had to look longingly in windows, dreaming of posses
sions I could never afford; now I could afford so many things.

  Week by week I was growing richer. Tony was depositing money in a checking account that he'd opened for me. And he gave me a very generous allowance. I lived thriftily and put away what I could in a savings account that drew interest. On rare occasions Jillian would hand me twenty-dollar bills as if they were pennies. "Oh, don't be so damned grateful!" she yelled when I thanked her perhaps too enthusiastically, "It's only money!"

  The savings account was meant for that

  wonderful day when I had my family back together again; I spent very little on myself. When I shopped that year, I shopped for all of us, as if we were back together. A beautiful white cableknit sweater for Tom, along with a fine camera and dozens of rolls of film so he could have a friend take pictures of him that he could mail to me. It was easy to find the kind of heavy wool jacket he'd so longed for when we lived in the Willies, and trudging back and forth to school had been a real struggle when neither your feet or any other part of your body was warm. A coat just like the one Logan used to wear, genuine leather and fleece-lined. I wanted to give him everything he'd ever wanted. I shopped for Fanny, though I didn't know where to send my gifts. I put them in the bottom dresser drawer along with all that I'd bought for Keith and Our Jane, promising myself I'd have the joy of seeing them open my gifts someday . . . someday.

  Troy and I met early Christmas morning in his cottage, long before Jillian and Tony were up. He had his breakfast all ready, the tree we had trimmed together, and the gifts we had for each other stacked beneath. "Come in, Merry Christmas! Don't you look lovely with roses in your cheeks. I was so afraid you'd be late. I've made us the most delicious Swedish Christmas bread."

  Later, we opened our gifts like two young children. Troy gave me a blue cashmere sweater that matched my eyes perfectly. I gave him a rich brown leather diary, tooled with gold. "What in the world is this? A diary for me to record my most ridiculous or remarkable words?"

  He was joking, I was dead serious. "I want you to write in it, beginning the first time you heard about Jillian from Tony. Everything they told you about my mother before they were married. How she felt about her father, about the divorce. Write about the first time you saw her, what she said to you, and what you said to her. Recall what she wore, your first impressions."

  His expression seemed strange as he nodded and accepted the book from me. "All right, I'll do my best. However, you have to keep remembering I was only three—are you listening, Heaven, only three. She was twelve."

  "Tony told me you were always older than your age when it came to intelligence, and younger than your age when it came to being left alone."

  I had other gifts for him that pleased him more.

  What he gave to me I cherished more than anything Jillian and Tony put under one of the huge Christmas trees placed before every front window in Farthinggale Manor.

  Jillian, Tony, and I went out to a fancy Christmas party at one of their friends' houses. It was the first time they'd ever taken me anywhere with them, but somehow that wasn't enough to keep me from feeling miserably lonely that day, and the rest of the week until New Year's and the week after when I returned to school again. Tony went off to work every day, and almost every night he and Jillian went out together. Jillian was scarcely to be seen during the day; and when, on occasion, I'd see her in the music room playing solitaire, she no longer invited me to share a card game with her. Ever since Tony had publicly announced on Thanksgiving that I was to be a permanent resident at Farthy, Jillian had retreated from me totally. To her I was a resident, not a member of the family.

  Jillian seemed pleased that I kept so busy I had little time to share her lifestyle, which included one social or charity affair after another. And all the togetherness I had believed once she and I would share faded with the realization we would never be close. She was not going to love me, or let herself grow attached so she might miss me later on. Oh, I knew her now, only too well.

  I sneaked over to visit Troy as often as I could—which wasn't that often, since I had the feeling that even though I didn't see her, Jillian was quite aware of exactly where I was. I also went into Boston frequently to go to the library and to the museums. A few times I went by The Red Feather and B.U. hoping to "accidentally" run into Logan, but I didn't once see him. Perhaps he'd returned to Winnerrow for the holidays. And that's when the tears would start to come. For Logan hadn't even sent me a Christmas card, neither had anyone in my family. Sometimes I felt that Farthinggale Manor was as impoverished as the Willies—only in a different way. For here there was a dearth of love, and caring, and sharing, and joy.

  Even in our rickety cabin we'd known those things.

  Here all that was given was money, and, much as I longed for it, I was beginning to crave love and affection even more.

  February arrived with my eighteenth birthday, which Tony and Jillian still believed was my seven-

  teenth. Tony arranged everything for that birthday party given in my honor. "Invite all those snobby Winterhaven girls and we'll knock their eyes out."

  And, finally, all the Winterhaven girls had their chance to gawk at the splendors of Farthinggale Manor. The lavish food spread on a table took my breath away. The gifts given to me that year left me even more breathless, and feeling strangely guilty. For how was the rest of my family faring?

  The success of that party impressed those silly girls so much, I was finally accepted as good enough to be treated decently.

  In early March such a terrible storm blew in I was trapped at home the Monday I was due to be driven back to Winterhaven. Tony and Jillian were, out of town, giving me the perfect opportunity to use the underground tunnel that connected Farthinggale Manor to Troy's cottage. Breathlessly I arrived, having run all the scary, dim way, making a great bit of noise as I climbed his cellar stairs, just to tell him I was coming up. Busy, as always, still he seemed to be expecting my visit, lifting his head from his work to smile my way, "Glad you're here. You can keep an eye on the bread in the oven until I finish what I've started."

  Later, he and I settled down before a log fire, and I handed him one of his own books of poems.

  "Please read them to me." He didn't want to, and tried to put the book away, but I kept insisting. Relenting, he read. I heard the emotions in his voice, heard the sadness, and I wanted to cry. I didn't know much about poetry, but he did string words together in unique and beautiful ways. I told him this.

  "That's the trouble with all my poems," he responded with unfamiliar impatience. He tossed the slender volume away. "Everything I write is too sweet and too pretty . . ."

  "Not sweet," I objected, jumping up to retrieve the book. "But I don't understand what you're trying to say. I feel an undercurrent of something morbid and dark in all your words, though you put them together beautifully. If you won't tell me what your poems mean, let me have this book to read over and over again until I understand your meaning."

  "It would be smarter if you didn't try to understand." His dark eyes for a second seemed tormented.

  Then they brightened. "It's wonderful to have you here, Heaven. I admit I hide my loneliness in work.

  Now I can hardly wait for you to show up." And because we were sitting side by side, very close, on impulse my head rested against his shoulder, even as my face turned, my lips more than ready for his first kiss. His pupils enlarged as I waited and waited, growing tense when he took so long. Then, sharply, he drew away, leaving me bewildered.

  Feeling rejected, soon I made some flimsy excuse about having to do my homework. Here I was losing again! I could do nothing right to please any man enough! Angry with him, even angrier with myself, I returned to Farthy to swim in the warm water of the indoor pool. Back and forth across the long pool twenty times, and still I couldn't swim my anger away. I dressed, and while my hair was still wet I read before a huge hearth with a blazing fire made just for me. Prone on the floor I stared at the open, leather-bound volume, filled with rand
om unhappiness that wouldn't allow me to concentrate on the written words.

  All about me dead ancestors of the Tattertons fixed watchful eyes on my every movement. I thought I heard their painted lips whispering that I didn't belong here, and why didn't I leave and not sully their reputations with my Casteel heritage! It was silly, I knew that, and yet the library, with its rich leather chairs, seemed hostile. And the first thing I knew, I was getting up from the floor and heading toward the stairs and the cozy familiarity of my own rooms.

  Halfway down the hall in my wing I faintly heard my phone ringing. My heartbeats quickened. No one ever called me. Maybe it was Troy! Logan!

  Maybe . . .

  Slamming the door behind me, I ran to answer before the rings stopped.

  "Heaven, is it ya? Really ya?" asked a twangy country voice I knew only too well. Relief and happiness like warm wine flooded through me. "It's me, Heaven, yer sista Fanny! An ya know what, I'm a motha! Had my baby jus' two hours ago! It came early, bout three weeks, an I neva thought anythin' so normal could hurt so blessed much! I yelled an screamed an t'nurses tried t'hold me down, an Mrs.

  Wise ordered me t'be quiet or t'whole world would hear me yellin . . . but that were an easy thin' fer her t'say when it was me who was havin her baby. ."

  "Oh, Fanny, thank God you called! I've been so worried about you! Why didn't you call before?"

  "Why I done called ya a hundred times, I have, an nobody there understands what I say. Or who I want t'talk ta. What's wrong with 'em? They talk funny, like ya do now. Did ya hear me say I had a baby girl?"

  What was that catch I heard in her voice?

  Regrets? Sorry now she'd schemed with the Reverend and his wife to have a baby for ten thousand dollars?

  "Fanny, tell me, are you all right? Where are you?"

  "Sure I'm fine, jus' fine. Weren't nothin t'it once it were ova. An she's so t'prettiest lii ole girl with black hair that's curly an everythin'. Got two of what she should have, an none of what she shouldn't. An t'Reverend is sure gonna be so happy when he sees her . . ."