Spring, 1795
In a rage today I thrust aside the tiny fetish I had constructed, smashing its delicate head against the ebony nightstand beside my bed. I couldn’t help disrupting the ceremony. My thoughts are so scrambled that they are nearly impossible to record, but I shall try.
I am in love with Barnabas Collins. I know this now.
When I first saw him with mademoiselle Josette, I felt the pull of his eyes, the way his beautiful hands drew me towards him. But I didn’t know him then (as I do now). For once, I thought, I shall have something that belongs to her. Mademoiselle Josette has had everything she has ever wanted since childhood; every doll, every hat, every sky-blue gown that should have been mine. Barnabas Collins is too much a man for you, little girl, I thought then, and I think it now.
I felt his eyes on me during our first meeting, as I brought him water to protect him from the heat of the island sun; I could hear the slaves chanting their strange, powerful songs from the cane fields as he ran his huge hand softly over my arm. Even then I didn’t really see him as a man. A tool, I regret to say, something to use against cheri Josette, something to make her weep the bitter tears that have stung my eyes for all the years since I have come to la maison de DuPres. But the electricity that stung me as his hand touched my skin surprised me. It awoke within me a feeling that I have never known. None of the men from town have come close to evoking a response such as this within me. Not even the Lord himself, though it terrifies me to consider such a thing.
It was Barnabas I thought of as I bathed that night, secretly, aware that the servents of the DuPres are allowed very little of the human dignities that they themselves enjoy. Human dignities! To be human is to be frail, and I am anything but that. I wonder about my humanity sometimes; I feel as if it slipping away, grain by grain, just as Nicholas said it would. But I won’t think of him now.
And yet I can’t afford to not think of him. Nicholas is the man I met in the woods the night after Barnabas and his father arrived on the island ... the night when Barnabas and I shared our first delight together. I was on my way to see Maman, to beg her council and to ask a way to ensure that Barnabas Collins could - would - be mine. Maman has always been a special woman; her curative powers are known all over the island. Even the Countess DuPres has questioned me at times about her, even though it doesn’t become a great lady to lower herself to speak with the common rabble. The forest was dark; I could only see the path when the frequent flashes of lightning permitted. Fortunately I have travelled the path since I was a girl. I nearly shrieked when the man stepped out of the shadows and brushed his hand against my arm.
He was dressed strangely, from head to toe; his suit, if that’s what it was, was of a greenish hue, and he wore the oddest sort of hat I’ve ever seen on a head. It seemed to be lined with some sort of fure, like that of a sheep, and had a very broad brim. His eyes were small and piercing, nearly red; his moustache twitched frequently, with nervousness or amusement I couldn’t tell. "Miranda!" he cried, grinning his sharp grin. "My dear, how good it is to see you again!"
"Miranda?" I cried, taken aback. "But that ... that is not my name.
"Of course not," he said silkily, taking my hand and brushing his cold lips against it. "However very silly of me. Your name is Angelique, is it not? Angelique Bouchard, the daughter of the wise woman of the island?"
"You do know," I said, somewhat haughtily. Though I love Maman dearly, I do not often appreciate being associated with her. There are many who have doubts about her sanity, and often I side with them. Lightning flashed again, illuminating his features, and I was taken aback as it accented the cruelty that lined his face and its disturbing paleness.
"I have come a long way to see you, my dear," he said, grinning still. "Have you been waiting for me?"
"How could I do that?" I scoffed. "I’ve never met you before in my life."
"So you say now," he said. "But you will see me again after this. Tell me, my dear - you are having a spot of trouble, are you not?"
"I don’t know what you’re talking about."
"Of course you do," he chuckled. "I’m talking about Barnabas Collins. We’re very interested in him, you know ... very interested."
"Who is ‘we’?" I asked.
"You have begged our favor before, my dear," he said wryly. "You called my Master’s name only last night. We have only been waiting until the time when you can be deemed worthy of us."
"You - you are from Him?" I cried, suddenly pierced by an icicle of fear. "From ..."
"You needn’t say his name," Nicholas said, irritated. "I know it well enough. But the answer is, yes. We have heard your cries, as we have heard them before."
"I have never tried summoning Him before last evening," I said. Thunder rumbled menacingly in the distance; the heat was weighing down upon me, and the cloying scent of the jungle was stifling.
"If you say so," he replied, shrugging. "The point is that we have heard you, and have agreed to help you ... if you agree to do a favor for us."
"What is it?" I cried eagerly. So the ceremony the Mambo woman had instructed me to do hadn’t been for nothing after all! "Please, tell me and I will do it!"
"We are not ready to tell you yet," Nicholas said. "Even I am not completely certain what my master’s plan is ... but you will know it eventually." He placed his hand on my forehead and made a strange curving sign with his thumb, and a serpentine shiver slivered down my spine. "You are one with the Master," he whispered, and thunder cracked above us at the same moment that lightning split the sky with a fork of brilliance. "This mind is our property; this hand," he said, clutching my right and pressing it between his green gloves, "has been granted the power of my Master; this hand is the recipient of my Master’s grace." He pressed his hand against my breast. "And this heart is our domain."
I felt cold all over, as if I were being pelted by the rain that would fall later that evening, as if I had spent a thousand winters sleepingbeneath snow and ice. I had never felt such cold before, and it terrified me. But at the same moment a flame rose within my breast, deep within my heart, and although I swear that I have never felt such a sensation before, it was strangely familiar to me, as if it had only been rekindled instead of newly ignited. I felt that there were memories of a whole new world - a completely different life - below the surface of my mind, just waiting to be unlocked. "What have you done to me?" I whispered, forcing my teeth not to chatter. A nightbird screamed somewhere in the depths of the jungle, and the sound sent spears of sensation through me, as though I were hearing it for the first time.
"You will create a doll," Nicholas said coldly. "A doll in the image of Barnabas Collins. That doll will allow you passage to America, to a house called Collinwood, in the arms of the man you ... love." He spat out the last word. "You are going to Collinwood, you know, although it has yet to be built. It is part of my Master’s plan."
"Tell me what you want me to do," I said firmly.
"Create the doll for now," Nicholas said. "The rest of your instructions will come ... at my later convenience."
Thunder growled above us, and it seemed suddenly as if a blue-white spike of lightning roared down from the sky, like quicksilver, striking Nicholas and shearing him in two. I screamed, falling to the ground and forcing my hands over my eyes. I only removed them when I heard his mocking laughter as my nostrils were assaulted by the scent of brimstone.
That was nearly a week ago. Barnabas Collins could have been mine if I’d wanted him that way. It would have been so easy to steal him right from under mademoiselle’s nose if I’d so desired. All I would have to do would be to create the doll. But I don’t want him that way, the way that Nicholas wants. I want him to love me the way I love him. So I made the doll, imbued with my beloved’s hair and fingernails. But I shattered it not a moment later. I will have Barnabas Collins, yes, but I will not have him through witchcraft. Someday soon, Mademoiselle Josette, while you are gazing at a flower or revelling in the sunset, then I will steal him and make him mine.
Barnabas Collins will be mine if I have to through the fires of hell itself to get him ... this I swear!
Spring, 1795
"A what?" I asked incredulously. The blazing sun of the island was dimmed somewhat by the topiage surrounding us, but sweat was still dripping from my forehead. The green dress I wore had once belonged to mademoiselle, and she had abandoned it after her journey to Paris last August. It clung with unpleasant stickiness to the curves of my body. I hated the heat of Martinique. I loathed it. "You must be joking," I said. "It is not of my station. La Contesse would not approve."
"It is not for the Countess to approve or disapprove," Nicholas said to me, smirking like a dog as he always does. I wanted to peal that moustache off his face with my fingernails. "She has little to say in ... our affairs."
"But who will do it?" I asked, resisting the urge to pace. I shot a quick glance over my house; although we stood on the veranda of the grand maison Andre DuPres had constructed twenty years before for his new wife, it didn’t grant us complete seclusion. It was possible that a pair of prying eyes might catch a glimpse of me shirking my duties in favor of this strange man, and then there would be trouble. But Nicholas seemed to read my thoughts, and bushed them away like a cloud of gnats.
"Don’t worry, ma cheri," he purred. "No one will run afoul of us if I so desire." It unnerved me to see that, despite the blazing heat of the day, he had not broken a sweat at all. "And as for that, you must not worry. As I said the last time we met, all will be explained to you in time."
"I don’t like feeling this way," I said, piercing him with my coldest gaze. I didn’t like the way he made me feel, like I was an ordinary human insect that he could crush at any moment. Somehow I feel less and less like an ordinary mortal everyday. "As if you dictate every move I make."
"You’re a feisty one, I’ll grant you that," Nicholas relied with a papery chuckle. "Perhaps we can use that later on."
"When will it be done?"
"Tonight," he said. "Make sure that you are ready." His tiny pig-eyes ran up and down the length of my body, pausing for an extra moment on my breasts. How I wish I could have killed him right there! I can’t understand this hatred for him; it’s as if I’ve known him somewhere before, in another life. But of course that is ridiculous.
"What shall I wear?"
"That," he said, nodding at the emerald gown I wore, "will be sufficient. It is a lovely dress. Josette must have looked particularly beautiful in it."
I wish I had the power to kill with a glance; had I that power, I would have used it at that moment without hesitation. "Yes, she did," I said calmly. "Mademoiselle Josette has always looked beautiful in whatever she wears."
"Ah, my dear," he grinned. "To others, lying is not a virtue, but when you become involved with us ..."
It is nearly time. Nicholas told me to be ready by midnight, and it will be thus in less than ten minutes. I don’t know what he has in store for me, but the sooner it’s over the better. I so wish that I could spend tonight in Monsieur Barnabas’ arms.
LATER
It is over. Nicholas’ plan, whatever that may turn out to be, has commenced. He’s a great schemer, but so am I. I think that he’s underestimated me, perhaps.
I had barely lain this journal on the table beside my bed when the room seemed to contract and then expand almost immediately. My head throbbed with a sudden pain, as though my brain were being squeezed by cruel fingers, and the moonlight suddenly seemed to be extinguished. So was the light of the candle, and the room became very dim. For some reason I felt absolutely no fear, and was almost unsurprised as Nicholas materialized in front of me. "My dear," he said, brushing his ice-cold lips against my hand, "how beautiful you are in the dress of your mistress."
"Are you going to tell me what you have planned?" I asked coldly.
"Not completely," he said slyly as he rose. "But first we need ... light." He snapped his fingers and the candle beside my bed flared instantly into life. Again I was utterly unamazed. It is surprising how unemotional I feel at times, as if nothing surprises me anymore. It is a disturbing thought, losing one’s humanity.
"How very clever of you, monsieur," I said, clapping wryly. "Are you an amateur magician? Have you any more parlor tricks?
He scowled at me, and his pointed eyebrows drew together in a solid black line. "I admire your spark and spice this afternoon, dear Angelique," he growled, "but now they only irritate me. I would advise you most seriously to keep your mouth closed until this ceremony has finished. I wouldn’t want to have to close it for you."
My mouth dropped and then snapped closed, trembling. How I hate you, I thought, my fists clenched, how I wish I could kill you. I took only a small satisfaction that I had irritated him by criticizing his powers. "Continue," I said, my throat closed.
"People like you and I cannot easily predict the future," Nicholas began, "nor is future knowledge easily accesible to us. We have only a slight glimmer of what it may be. Even our master is not totally infallible. But he does have an idea of the events that will transpire at Collinwood in few months. A very good idea indeed. You are to play an important part in the acts that will soon unfold."
"What do you mean?" I asked, intrigued despite myself.
"You will see," he smiled. "But I am here tonight to ensure that you will definitely remain at Collinwood, even after your physical body is no longer .. available to you."
For the first time I felt an icy feather brush against my heart. "What do you mean?" I asked. "I’m not going to ... to die, am I?"
Nicholas favored me with a glance of utter disdain. "People like you and I do not die, my dear," he said. "We will always exist in one form or another. Even powerless our essences will remain readily available. You are a witch, my dear Angelique, remember that. There are powers at your command that the merest mortal mind can only dream of. You will ride through the sky if you so desire; you can destroy your enemies with a glance; no door can hold you; no walls can entrap you. You will have power over time and space, as I will shortly demonstrate for you." I felt a tingle of anticipation as he bent over the candle. "I call upon the Powers of Darkness," he intoned, his face a greenish hue in the light of the candle. "Hear my voice as it echoes across the darkness; let it reach the spirit of a man not yet born. Let him hear my command, a command that he will be helpless to deny." He straightened, his teeth bared. "Charles Delaware Tate," he cried, flinging out his hands, "hear my words! I call you from the black barrier at the end of time, the barrier that separates the living from the dead. You will hear my voice and come to me ... you have no power to deny me, Tate! Come to me ... I command you to appear before me in human form, now, in this very room. Tate! I can feel your presence! Come to me! Appear to me now ... now ...NOW!"
An icy tremor vibrated throughout the length of the room, passing over and through me as it went and leaving me chilled to the bone, utterly breathless. A gust of wind blew the candle out, but a source of light continued to permeate the blackness of the room. Near the window, where no moonlight dared pierce, a figure was beginning to form, slowly, painfully slowly, as if knitting itself into reality like the web of a spider. It lifted its head, revealing a pale, sepulchral face with huge blue eyes and sandy hair. "I ... am ... Tate," it whispered huskily. "Why have you called to me?"
"I have brought you back," Nicholas intoned, "I am your master, and you will obey me. Do you understand?" The pale wraith by the window nodded. "Do you see that woman standing before you?" It nodded again, its crystalline eyes ranging over me. "Her name is Angelique. She is quite beautiful, is she not?" Again, it nodded. "I have a task for you, and you will perform it with no hesitation. Show me the tools of your trade."
"I have none," the ghost replied.
"Look behind you," Nicholas said, smiling insidiously. The spirit turned, and its eyes widened. A canvas had appeared, and beside it a paint set and brushes. "You have been summoned to paint a portrait of Angelique, and you will finish it tonight."
I sat on the chair that Nicholas directed me to, and the ghost of Tate (or whatever it was) began its work. It may have been hours or only seconds he painted, I do not know. It seemed that I entered a trance of some sort, because it seemed like only seconds that Nicholas was shaking me. "You may rise, my dear," he said. "Our friend has finished the job."
The portrait stared at me, smirking with my cool blue eyes, like a mirror image. The artist stood beside it, his face completely devoid of emotion. I looked to Nicholas. "Well?" he asked. "Don’t you like it?"
"The Countess will wonder," I said. "She will be the first to ask questions, but there will be many."
"The Countess will never see it," he assured me. He turned to Tate, and motioned to him with one gloved hand. "Return to the darkness, Charles Tate. I am finished with you. Await a time a century hence when you will walk this planet with earthly feet." The room grew bone-chillingly cold again, and the darkness seemed to intensify, pressing against me. When the moonlight again flooded the room, the ghost of Tate was gone.
"What are you going to do with it?" I asked.
"I’m taking it with me," he said. "You will see it again, believe me, but it won’t be for years and years and years. But you won’t find it ... it will find you." He chuckled menacingly and lifted the portrait from the easel. He turned to me once more. "We will meet again, my dear," he said before fading away, back into the shadows from whence he always came. I felt as if a heavy boulder had been removed from my chest. The tolling of the church bells from the village proclaimed the time to be three o’clock. I wondered if Monsieur Barnabas would still be awake, and as I continued to hang my head out of the window, I heard a small sound from the garden. Could it be ... laughter? I listened carefully. Yes, I was not mistaken. Two people were talking together in the garden? But who? And why so late?
I snuck down the staircase, pausing a minute before the door of the Countess. Her snores were loud and frequent. Relieved, I continued on my way. The night was still warm, but not as warm as the tropical afternoon had proven to be. I continued to make my way silently to the garden, being careful so as not to alert whoever it was to my presence. And, as I peered from behind the safety of a rosebush, I felt my heart rise into my throat. My face flamed, I clenched my hands into fists, and my teeth sheared through my lower lip until it bled.
"Barnabas," Josette sighed, moaning slightly as his lips traced the soft length of her pale throat. "Barnabas, mon cher, mon amour, oui! Oui, Barnabas!" The neck of her nightdress had been lowered sufficiently enough to reveal her cleavage. Her breasts were crushed against his chest as he continued making his way down her neck. I nearly cried out, but pressed my fists against my mouth and bit down. The pain cleared my head, and with tears stinging in my eyes and blurring my vision, I fled back to the house, careless of who should hear me.
And now I lie in my bed, unable to sleep. The fury I feel will not allow me to do any such thing. There must be something I can do, there must.
I regret shattering the fetish now.
Winter, 1795
The wind is wailing just outside my room, and there is a thick sheath of frost clinging to my window. The light from my candle makes the room a little cheerier, but it doesn’t help much.
I am in the house of my love, under his very roof, and he knows it. Poor Barnabas. He thinks that he can force me out of his life, force me to believe that I am destined to remain a servant forever. Does he think I shall return to Martinique with La Contesse Natalie and her fat brother after the marriage transpires? How he would pale if he knew there was to be no marriage. At least, not to Josette. I intend for Barnabas to take a bride - and I shall be the woman in white, and no other before me. I would kill Barnabas before I let another woman have him. A year ago I would never think of saying such a dreadful thing, but as time progresses I can feel the old me crumbling like sand on the beach at high tide. I am nothing like cheri Josette, a daffodil to blow away in the first wind.
Last night, I went to Barnabas’ room as soon as everyone was in bed. I felt a stab of disquiet when I remember his chilly greeting upon my arrival at Collinwood. I admit, I was soaked by the incessant rain that poured from slate-grey skies, miring the Countess’ carriage in the road, but I knew that he could not resist my charms. And yet somehow he did. But I would not be deterred. When the hour of midnight came and went, I rose from the narrow servant’s bed assigned to me and my way stealthly down the hall of the servant’s quarters. I didn’t need to be told where Barnabas’ room was; as my powers grow, there are fewer and fewer things that I do not know.
The look on his face as I appeared in his doorway was one I’ll cherish forever. "A ghost from your past," I smiled and slid effortlessly through the door. "Quick, close the door," I urged him. Bewildered, he did as I bade him to do, then turned to face me. "I’ve waited for this moment all day long," I purred. "I’ve been waiting in my room, Barnabas. You did not come to me ... so I came to you." My eyes were locked on his. "I have no pride, Barnabas." I leapt into his arms, throwing myself around him, pressing my breasts against his chest. But he drew back from me, as if repulsed, and I felt a pang of anger. He had never acted this way before! Not in Martinique!
"Angelique," he said, choking on my name, "you should never have come here."
"You don’t think me pretty anymore," I pouted.
"Of course you are," he said quickly, still refusing to look at me directly. "I know that it’s wrong of me to say this, but ..." He was sweating profusely. "It was my fault, my - my weakness to -"
I pressed my face against his chest. "To love me?" I whispered.
He recoiled. "I love Josette!"
That name, that name, that name! A thousand curses upon her pretty face, a thousand curses upon her flaming curls. "I’m sorry," he said quietly, but it did nothing to soothe my anger.
"For what?" I snapped. "For making me love you?"
"You do not love me," he said quietly, shaking his head.
"Don’t tell me how I feel!"
He broke free of my embrace and faced the door, his head hung low. "Josette will be here soon," he said.
I ran a cool hand along his breeches. "She’s not here yet," I whispered. He pulled away with a vicious jerk. Irritated, I hissed, "You are as cold as that wind outside your house, as cold as the water along the shore. What is the matter with you?"
"I thought I was in love with Josette," he said miserably, "but I didn’t realize that she was in love with me. But now that we’ve written ... well, you and I ... it’s just impossible," he said curtly. "We both have different roles to play now."
Roles? Roles! Is that what I was to him, a woman playing a role, a game piece? Was it a role he played as I lay in his arms, sated, glowing, but with a hunger building in me for more? "And what is mine?" I cried defiantly. "The Countess’ maid?" I said mockingly. "I am no one’s servant but yours!" I grasped his shoulders and pierced him with my most powerful look, my iciest. "I am your servant. You are my master. That is the way it will be."
He threw me away from him, covering his face with his hands, desperate to hide his shame. "No, Angelique!" he roared.
I backed away from him like a wet cat. When turned to look at me, I was pleased to see there was a touch of fear in his eyes. I bared my teeth, and spat, "You ... will ... see!" I slammed the door behind me, quick to hide my own shame - the tears that stood out like diamonds in my eyes.
Josette arrives tomorrow. I’m terrified that I will kill her the moment I lay eyes on her, but I cannot bring suspicion on myself. There must be another witch to take my place. But who? Who in this house could play that role?
Tomorrow, Josette, tomorrow ... no more storms to delay your boat. My powers are stronger now. Tomorrow, I will find something more suitable for you.