Wolf Moon Rising (61 page)

were the one who gave Dr. Blair permission to set up a labora-

tory in Rose Cottage, and now the poor man has committed

suicide on our property. Slicing his own throat with one of his

surgical instruments. It’s positively horrendous.”

David spoke up. “I told you Dr. Blair was a total maniac.

But you wouldn’t listen. Th

at’s because your solution to any

problem, Father, is to ignore it.”

Jackie rose to her feet in the foyer and without looking back

crossed to the door and reached for the handle.

“Where are you going?” Barnabas whispered.

“He doesn’t want me here,” she said softly.

“As you wish. But, you need not be afraid. You who have

faced the gallows without fl inching.” He observed her more

critically and saw that she was unkempt, her hair in knots and

her fi ngernails grimy, even though her pale eyes glowed like

pieces of the moon. He hesitated, and then gestured to the stair.

“Why don’t you go up to one of bathrooms and make yourself

presentable?”

She looked at him quizzically.

“Th

e Collins family dotes on appearances.”

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Jackie climbed the treads slowly and stopped on the landing.

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Shining though the massive window of stained glass were mias-

mas of colored rays, and she caught her breath, afraid to draw in

the poisonous mist that pervaded Collinwood. Collinwood!

Th

e very name made her ache with longing. Her chest tightened

and she thought she might faint. She turned to look back at

Barnabas still standing in the shadows, and he gave her an en-

couraging nod. Her gaze fell upon the Oriental carpet covering

the stair, the bronze statue of the wild horse on the sideboard,

and the portrait of Barnabas that hung beside the entrance. Be-

hind her the vibrant colors of the stained glass poured onto the

parquet fl ooring of the vestibule, dancing sun motes that fl ashed in rainbow prisms.

Th

e long hallway led her to a room she knew well. It had

been Josette’s room where she has burned with jealousy as she

waited on her mistress and longed to become Barnabas’s true

bride. Her jaw tightened as she struggled to stop tears from

fl owing, but the lump in her throat make her neck ache. Now

the room belonged to Elizabeth, and only a few days ago she

had stood at this very spot and been pampered and clothed in

silk and lace by three laughing girls. Walking past the four-

poster with its crocheted canopy, she entered the bathroom,

steeled herself, and raised her eyes to the mirror, afraid of what

she would see. But Angelique was not there, only Jackie’s own

refl ection, pallid and frail. She turned on the tap, waited until it grew hot, then dipped her hands before splashing her face. Mist

clouded the glass.

Her attention was caught by a group of photographs on the

wall beside the mirror, all of Elizabeth in her many fi lm and

theater roles. Radiant smiles and sultry gazes captured her many

moods, but one small photo seemed especially poignant. It was

of Liz in her fl apper days, wearing a dress of silver fringe, her

cheek up against that of another breathtaking girl child in a

shimmering shift. Leaning in to look closer, Jackie gasped and

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chills crept up her back. It was a picture of her— transformed

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into a beauty— after Liz had made her over into the “cat’s meow.”

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Barnabas entered the drawing room, imperious in his black

cloak and grasping his silver- headed cane. “What hap-

pened in here?” he asked, looking around in surprise.

Quentin spoke dryly. “Th

ere is a wolf in the vicinity and it

appears that it broke in and wrecked havoc.”

David turned from where he was standing beside the secre-

tary. To Barnabas, he seemed older than his sixteen years. “Fa-

ther,” he said, “at least let me tell you how I feel.”

“No, you may not. You have thoughtlessly created another

embarrassing situation, and you should be sensitive enough to

understand the diffi

culty. We can’t have a young girl your age

living in the same house.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” chimed in Quentin from the corner of the

room. “Nothing must besmirch the holy sanctifi ed Collins

name!” David smiled and looked to the door.

“Well it’s not as though there was no
room
,” off ered Carolyn, who was in her usual seat on the fi replace rail. She wore a beige

cashmere sweater and there was a blue ribbon in her long golden

hair. “We could open up one of the many wings.” She made a

dismissive gesture with her hand, rose, and walked toward the

hallway, then turned. “If you’re so worried about
propriety
, Jackie can sleep in my room, and I’ll be her chaperone. Th

at way no one

in the village will talk.” She giggled and glanced back over her

shoulder to where she thought Jackie was waiting.

“Carolyn, go to your room. Th

is is not your aff air.”

“Whoa . . . pretty harsh there, Uncle Dear. Th

is is about

me, too, and it would be lovely to have a real friend. It’s always

been so lonely here.”

Roger ignored her. “I’m referring to your coming exams,

David,” he insisted. “You have already missed weeks of study.

And your education is more important than running a boarding

house.”

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“She can’t stay in the Old House alone,” said David. “She’s

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too vulnerable. Th

ere are strange things going on, as you well

know, something is out there—”

“Not our responsibility.”

David remained calm. “You’re saying you wouldn’t feel re-

sponsible if something happened to her and you could have

protected her?”

Roger harrumphed. “My dear boy, please be reasonable. We

have enough to worry about here at home. We cannot take in

strays.”

“Strays! Th

is is a human being, not a dog. Th

is is,” and he

paused, “someone I love.”

Roger drew in his chin. “David, don’t be diffi

cult. You’re

much too young to know what love is.”

David’s cheeks reddened. “And do you know what it is, Fa-

ther? Does anyone in this family know what love is? Because I

have never seen it in this house.” He was digging the fi ngernails of one hand into the palm of the other.

But Roger muttered, “Th

at’s not fair— I may not be overly af-

fectionate, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want the best for you—”

“Did you love my mother?” David’s voice was harsh. “Did

you protect her? Where is she now, thanks to your indiff erence?”

Barnabas had never seen David be intentionally cruel. He

hoped it wasn’t the strain of cruelty that ran in the Collins family.

Roger was stunned. He glared at David, but his lips trem-

bled. “Be careful before you say things you will regret.”

“What I was about to say,” David continued, “was that if she

cannot stay here until we hear from her mother, then I will move

out and live at the Old House, where I can keep her safe—”

“David, you are my son and I am telling you it would not

be respectable—”

“Respectability be damned! Yes, I am your son, but I can’t

live in your shadow forever. When I am master here, we won’t

have all this secrecy.”

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Roger’s face blanched with annoyance.

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“When you speak of secrecy, you don’t know what you are

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saying. Th

ere are things you don’t understand. You don’t know

the family history. You’ve been sheltered, protected—”

“You mean that we were bootleggers during Prohibition?”

Roger’s eyes lifted under his brows, showing white beneath

the irises. He set his jaw. “Where did you hear that?”

“I know more than you think, Father. I know that innocent

people died to keep the family business afl oat. And before that,

we traded in slaves.”

Roger was visibly disturbed. “Wherever did you get such

ridiculous ideas?”

“I also know there is a curse.”

“A curse?” Roger placed a shaking hand on the mantel.

“And if it is ever to be lifted, it must be exposed.”

“Intercourse with the outside world has always led to disas-

ter,” Roger said in a wavering tone.

“I aim to change all that.”

Barnabas could sense an almost imperceptible squaring of

David’s shoulders. Listening to the discussion, he was aware of

that shift when a child moves into a new phase of early adult-

hood. At some point the child becomes the father of the man.

David had already marched into the foyer. A moment later he

returned with Jackie, her hand in his.

“David, this is not proper!” cried Roger, his eyes widening.

He grew fl ustered and spoke to Jackie. “My dear, I’m sorry you

have to be subjected to this family argument, but— But I’m sure

you understand— you are much too young—”

Ignoring him, David led Jackie to the velvet settee where she

sat hesitantly, now at the center of the family, and she looked

from face to face with an expression of humility and hopeful-

ness. At that moment, the light shifted, and Jackie was caught in

a ray of sunshine. Elizabeth drew in her breath almost as though

she was seeing her for the fi rst time. Jackie’s dark hair fell about her scrubbed cheeks and her skin glowed. Her delicate features,

her luminous eyes, were obvious to everyone. Even David was

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amazed.

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“I knew you would say that, Father, but you must accept the

fact that I— At some point, I will be in charge of the estate. I

should be allowed some decisions, after all, as I will be the only

Collins left.”

Roger looked from Jackie’s face to David’s, his irritation

ebbing in her presence as he struggled with his doubts. “And

you, young lady?”

She lifted her pale eyes to his and David thought he saw

Roger tremble, but his father maintained his composure, his

hands clasped in front of him as he looked down at her sternly.

She spoke in a soft voice. “Mr. Collins, I will respect your

authority and I will do nothing without your permission.” She

gazed at him steadily, and he seemed to vacillate.

“Th

en I can trust you?”

“Of course.” Her eyes were hypnotic.

“Oh, well, then I suppose it is decided,” said Roger abruptly.

“And what ever will happen to the Old House? Shall we leave it

to fall to rack and ruin once again?”

Barnabas spoke up. “I will be more than happy to remain

there.”

“Barnabas, you would make that sacrifi ce?” asked Roger.

“As a matter of fact, I prefer it. Th

e Old House feels more

like home!”

Roger looked around in bewilderment and David realized

his father was the only one still in the dark. Except perhaps for

his aunt Elizabeth. She looked to the corner of the room, where

Quentin had been sitting silently the entire time.

Th

e tall man rose to his feet and came forward, using his

cane to prevent his knocking into the furniture. His smooth

and chiseled face was partially hidden by dark glasses tucked

over his sideburns, but he managed to fi nd his way to the side-

board where the sherry was kept. Th

e decanter of claret had

seized the sunlight as well and it glowed with a ruby radiance.

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With habits long ago mastered, Quentin was able to pour him-

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self a glass, which he lifted in homage to the family before

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toasting in Jackie’s direction. “Welcome my dear, to the Great

House. I understand— that is, David has informed me— that

you are a rather talented paint er.”

“Yes, that’s true,” she said, smiling. “Although . . . I am still

a student.”

Quentin tossed the sherry down in one gulp and turned to

pour himself another. “I may have a project for you,” he said

grimly. “One that might give you great satisfaction. A portrait

that needs restoring.”

“I’ll be happy to look at it,” she said, glancing at David.

Elizabeth rose and walked to where Quentin was standing

near the window, and she put her palm tenderly on his arm.

Roger left hurriedly, claiming business, and David and Carolyn

went to prepare a room for their new guest. Jackie was left alone

with Barnabas, and she looked up at him somewhat guiltily

when he approached her.

“Well done, my dear,” he said. “You have made a coup.”

“Do you disapprove?” she asked.

“No, not at all, and now there is nothing to do but make the