Dark Shadows: Angelique's Descent

by Lara Parker

  The afternoon the young gentleman arrived, Josette was unable to leave her room until Angelique had done her chestnut hair to perfection, fastened the garnet necklace at her throat, and stained her lips with crushed beet juice. As Angelique buttoned the back of Josette’s organdy gown, the excited girl nearly swooned, and Angelique was obliged to catch her and hold her steady. “Angelique, I am so in love! I think I shall faint.”

  “You are beautiful, Mademoiselle. You will break his heart.”

  “Yes, yes! I must be beautiful, as beautiful as I can be, since I am not sure he will remember my face.”

  “How can you say such a thing? Of course he will remember.”

  “But he may not,” Josette said as she finally gathered herself together, took a deep breath, and walked to the door. “You see, even though we have exchanged many letters—and he is a poet, his letters are so beautiful—still, I only met him once, and that was over a year ago. I am so frightened!”

  Before Angelique could respond to this puzzling admission, Josette had dashed from the room and was descending the stair into the hall. Angelique followed her to the banister, looked down, and saw André waiting with a tall young man in an indigo-velvet jacket and brocaded waistcoat, with a well-built physique and close-cropped dark hair. He was presented to Josette, who curtsied prettily, and he bent to kiss her hand. The murmurings of their voices floated up to Angelique as they exchanged greetings, and André gestured toward the drawing room.

  As the young gentleman followed after Josette, he turned and looked toward the stair where Angelique was standing. His eyes were black and penetrating, and they locked onto hers, as, at that instant, her heart flew to her throat. She felt as though her breath had been knocked out of her. It couldn’t be true! Josette’s fiancé was her own long-awaited lover, Barnabas Collins.

  Twenty-Five

  Several days passed while Angelique remained in torment. Barnabas arrived each morning, and he and Josette rode off in his small carriage. From Josette’s ecstatic descriptions, Angelique learned that they had visited friends at Fort Royal and Trois Islets, where other wealthy families owned small plantations. The area was more refined than Saint-Pierre and was rapidly becoming the center of society.

  She combed through her memories, trying to understand what could have happened, unable to endure the enormity of her disappointment. Had he ceased to love her? It did not seem possible. Why had he had forsaken her for Josette? The pain of his rejection became more than she could bear, and each night she escaped to her room to weep piteously, welcoming the tears as relief from the visceral spasms of resentment and jealousy.

  As time went by, she became determined to see him again, to speak to him, and to look into his eyes. She would confront him, force him to admit what he had done, that he had asked her to marry him for the purpose of making love to her, that he had seduced her and abandoned her. At least she would hear the truth from his own lips. Anger welled up in her like a wave.

  She overheard Josette tell her father the name of the inn where Barnabas was staying, and she dispatched a short letter requesting an interview. She waited several days for an answer, meeting the post every afternoon in heart-wrenching expectation, but there was never anything for her. Each day yielded greater anxiety and an agony of mind brought on by bewilderment and incomprehension that moved toward madness. When another day came with no response, she decided that she would go to him that very evening.

  Opening the drawer to her wardrobe, she withdrew the dress of golden satin and laid it on the chair. Among Josette’s things she found jewels, a corset and petticoats, satin slippers and a shawl. She arranged her hair in the fashion she had so often created for Josette, softly curled and piled upon her head, and placed a pair of opal-and-diamond earrings in her ears. When she looked in the glass her eyes were a gleaming azure sparked by fire. She was satisfied that her appearance was that of a fine lady, with a delicate waist, a lovely bust, a mass of golden curls, and eyes that sprang to life when the diamonds in her ears caught the light. At that moment, the hatred storming in her heart subsided, and she was certain she would win him back. How could he not love her as she loved him?

  The gown was silken against her flesh as she slipped out her door with a candle and moved quietly down the stair. It was after eleven o’clock, and the house was dark and quiet as she entered the back hallway. She tripped over a pile of jackets and boots piled by the door. André had, no doubt, been on a shooting party out in the surrounding country that day with some of the other plantation owners. She stopped when she noticed the leather case that contained his pistols. Hesitating, she knelt, set her candle on the floor, and opened the box.

  The two guns lay in the velvet, handle to muzzle, fitted together like lovers. Unable to resist, she took one up and cradled it in her hand. It was heavy and cold, and the barrel glinted in the candlelight. The shot was still in the chamber. Impulsively, she placed the pistol beneath her shawl and opened the door.

  The night was balmy, the air thick, and a soft breeze stirred the long fronds of the palm trees. Passing the fountain where the water flowed from Dionysus’s chalice, she thought of her first night with Barnabas, and her heart hardened with anger once again. She would have satisfaction, if nothing else! She found the inn and endured the salacious looks from the concierge, who pointed to Barnabas’s room. Then, holding her breath, she walked to the door and knocked softly.

  “Yes?” His voice revealed irritation at an unexpected visitor. The door opened, and he was looking down at her. He wore a silk robe, and she glimpsed the muscles of his chest covered with dark hair within the collar. She had forgotten how tall he was, how massive his shoulders. His eyes widened in astonishment when he saw her standing there.

  “Angelique!”

  “Yes … Barnabas. Did you not think I would come?”

  He tried to cover his discomfort. “What a lovely surprise!”

  Could she detect annoyance on the edges of his greeting? She was not sure. “I had to see you. I waited so long for you to come back to Martinique—to return to me, and now…”

  “I-I know … I know. I’m so sorry, my dear,” he said stumbling over his words. It was then she realized he had been drinking. “I intended to see you, as soon as possible.”

  “Did you receive my letter?” She was conscious of the weight of the gun beneath her scarf, held in her two folded hands.

  “Yes, yes, and I had every intention of responding. But … it’s been very difficult. Josette is—”

  “Are you betrothed to Josette? Is it really true?”

  “Please, come in…” he said gently. He took her arm and, leading her into his room, shut the door quietly. Warmth spread through her body at his touch. He was breathing quickly, and she could feel the quivering in his hands where they gripped her. His disquietude gave her courage.

  “Let me get you a glass of wine,” he said in that resonant voice she remembered so well. “We can sit here beside the window and look out at the sea, and I will explain everything.”

  At that precise moment the swift beating of her heart subsided. She could feel the warm blood in her fingertips, and her limbs were effused with vitality, as though her entire body were no longer flesh, but pulsing light. She walked to the window, feeling her dress flow on the carpet, but did not sit. Instead she turned to him, the glow of the candlelight on her face, and stood like a burning flame, waiting for him to speak.

  He looked at her for a moment, then, to her surprise, he said, “My God, you are such a beauty!”

  And she knew, if nothing else, he desired her still.

  “Your … eyes, are … hypnotic … I had forgotten.…” He jerked his collar closed and tied his robe tightly around his waist, then went to his cabinet for the brandy. A great gilt mirror hung behind the cupboard, reflecting the room, and she watched his back as he bent over the bottle. She heard the snifters clatter against themselves, as though his hands were shaking. It was then she took the pistol from her shawl.


  The door of the cabinet failed to catch and slowly fell open again as he fumbled with the stopper. Noticing it, he slammed it shut with such ferocity that the wood shattered. He stood there a moment, obviously fighting for control, before he looked up into the mirror and saw that she had lifted the pistol and pointed it directly at him.

  He whirled back at the sight. “My God…!”

  “Did you expect me to remain silent, Barnabas, and accept your betrayal demurely, like a well-bred lady?”

  “Please … my dear … put that away.…”

  “I found this in André’s gun case. Your intended father-in-law, Barnabas. How fitting, don’t you agree? And I shall fire it, if I so desire. Tell me one reason why I should not blow a gaping hole in that deceitful breast, where the heart is already hollow!”

  “Angelique, please … it’s dangerous … truly … you don’t intend to … please, sit down and … have a glass of wine.…” He looked at her, an expression on his face that was difficult to read, then he took a step back. His face sagged.

  “Oh, very well, fire away,” he said dejectedly. “I deserve it. Rid the world of a despicable scoundrel who will be happily released from these months of torture.… I should be more than glad if you would do for me that which I have not had the courage to do myself.…”

  His words stunned her for a moment, but she was not fooled. “Oh, come, Barnabas, two women in love with you, and you want to die? I should think you would be appalled. When such an exciting life lies before you! Tell me the truth!”

  “I am…” he said, taking a deep breath, “tentatively … betrothed to Josette.”

  “Tentatively? Does this mean you have made your choice? A shallow life, a life of duty, of catering to the whims and demands of a spoiled child, who is sentimental, to be sure, but all artifice. She is intended for a boy, some pretty gallant who will sit at her feet and feed her candy. Do you prefer her to—as you yourself put it—your soul’s companion! A passionate woman who knows you, worships you, and will devote her life to your happiness? Tell me, then, and hurry. My arm wearies, and the weight is against the trigger!”

  “Angelique. Look at me. Don’t you know no one can take your place?”

  She felt the room spin and closed her eyes for a moment. He saw her falter, and added quickly. “You must believe me, I have been tormented, stricken with remorse.…”

  She lowered the gun, suddenly feeling weak.

  “I have been dreaming of you, longing for you,” he continued.

  “But you didn’t come,” she said. “And when you did, it was not to see me. I love you. I am the one in torment.… I am the one who wants to die.…” She held the gun away from her, her arm aching and quivering, and it fell toward her own breast. He lunged for it and grabbed the barrel, struggling to wrench it from her grasp. Her eyes grew wide, and, suddenly, the gun exploded.

  Barnabas screamed “No!” as the bullet shattered the mirror into shimmering knives that fell crashing to the floor. Angelique stood gaping at the dark wall where the glass had been.

  “The mirror…” she cried. “You see! I’ve broken the mirror.…” She trembled so, she thought she would faint.

  Coming to her, and taking the gun from her gently, he led her to a chair, then knelt in front of her. As she shuddered, he stroked her hands and her hair, soothing her, speaking in a tremulous voice.

  “It’s nothing … here … have some wine … calm yourself … try to drink this … you know I’m devoted to you. You have given me great happiness.… Will you listen to me?”

  She took a taste of the wine, and he spoke to her softly. “The only explanation I can give you is that Josette’s father suggested the marriage, which would be monetarily beneficial to our family. I never took the idea too seriously. To tell you the truth, I did not think she would have me. I only met her once. She never gave me any encouragement when I was here, and … and finding so much … joy with you.…”

  He looked at her, his dark eyes registering his meaning. He was in turmoil, struggling to find the words. “After … I left Martinique, I had every intention of returning to you. But it was impossible for us to exchange letters and still keep our love affair secret. Whereas—Josette and I—wrote to one another, friendly notes at first. And then, after a time, I felt her affection for me develop.”

  Angelique stiffened and turned her face away. He hurried on, the words coming in spurts. “You must understand that my family has become extremely important to me in this last year, and I have come to recognize my obligations as the son of a wealthy shipping magnate. My father … has never found favor with my adventures … I thought I would come into my fortune … but my father has delayed the transmission of property, pending my … that is … you should be aware that were I to marry you, I would be stripped of my inheritance. I would be able to offer you nothing. He would simply see it as another of my degenerate escapades, an excuse to cast me out.”

  “Is that how you see me? Loving you for your fortune?”

  Now that she knew what he was saying, Angelique became more aware of the way he was looking at her, a smoldering hunger in his gaze. He trembled, and his voice was ardent with feeling, as she studied the facets and shadows of his face, seduced as always by his passionate visage. She tried to concentrate on the simple pleasure it gave her just to look at him, when she had dreamed of him for so long.

  He continued. “Whereas, this proposed union of our two families, Josette’s and mine, was the first instance I can ever recall of his approving anything I have ever done, and, as the months went by, he began to assume that the marriage was a settled affair, or as he put it ‘a connection that we cannot afford to pass up.’” There was an ever-so-slight bitterness to his tone. “As for Josette … she’s young, innocent … she’s fallen in love with me.…”

  Angelique raised her eyes to his. “Josette is my mistress, Barnabas. Am I to travel with her to America? And carry my burning heart in my breast? Not speaking? Not saying a word? Is that what you expect?”

  He shook his head, leaned over, and kissed her hands. She drew them away.

  “Then say something more,” she cried, “that I may despise you, for I want to hate you. When I look at you, I want to see only ugliness and deformity. Free me. Can you? Repel me. As cleverly as you pursued me.”

  He rose and moved away from her, and she stood as well, leaning on the table.

  “I have come like the goat to the butcher,” she said bitterly. “No matter how much I might bleat and kick, my fate has been sealed. What am I to do? If I demand love where none exists, I will only create greater antipathy.”

  He turned and looked at her as she went on. “Anger—although my heart reels with anger—will only drive you further away. I could be generous, I suppose, and forgiving, and relieve you of all culpability, but I will not do that. I will never forgive you. I wanted to see you dead!”

  She could see the pain in his eyes as his face took on a gray cast. Her voice quivered. “No, there is no satisfaction for me here. So, why did I come? If you must know, it was only to look in your eyes and hear your voice again, to stand with you in the same moment in time. For you are my beloved. And the price I pay is forfeit of pride. This fleeting transport was purchased with humiliation, and shame. But I pay it gladly, for I did love you, and I love you still.”

  The candle at the window sputtered, and the flame threatened to fade in the melting wax. Barnabas went to the desk, took out another taper and lit it with the dying flame. He cupped his hand around the new light until it burned strong. Gripping it with his huge fingers, he forced the raw end into the soft wax until it was deep enough to hold.

  “I am still as drawn to you as ever,” he said in an anguished voice. A slight breeze floated in through the window, and the warm air caressed them both. “Being here in this room with you, seeing you now, feeling your mysterious presence, is like a dream.”

  “Why do you say these things? You insult me to offer hope! Tell me, is there any way for
us to be together now?”

  After a long moment he answered, “No…”

  “And it is your wish that I leave you.”

  “Yes…”

  “Then … good-bye, Barnabas.”

  She walked to the door slowly. She could feel his hunger following her as though he were reaching out to her with his mind. Placing her hand on the knob, she turned to him and looked into his eyes, thinking only what ecstasy it would be to feel his mouth on hers. She knew he would come to her if she willed it. She felt the flame within her as she held his gaze, and a feeling of radiant power flowed out of her.

  “Angelique…” His voice was a ragged whisper. “Please … don’t go.…”

  * * *

  The place high in the rain forest where the stream flowed from a hidden lake could be entered only through the water. The climb was torturous, up a giant stairway of silvered rock. Angelique looked back and laughed as she led Barnabas higher and higher, to where the cascade tumbled over their hands and feet, turning them fluid from the wrist and ankle down, and the mist was so fine it changed to liquid sunshine.

  The forest surrounding was more lush than she had imagined; they had been climbing for hours, deep into the jungle, and it was a great relief to reach the top. Beneath the lip of the cascade they found a chamber, where the ferns grew in delicate skirts and the roar of the falling water obscured all other sounds. There, hidden from the world, they watched the light play upon the waterfall and, reaching out through the curtain, tried to catch the silver in their hands.

  The lovers had spent many stolen hours with one another, hours of incredible bliss. The marriage to Josette was still planned to go forward, but Angelique clung to the knowledge that she would continue to belong to Barnabas whatever happened, as his mistress and beloved. She consoled herself with the belief that he would change his mind about Josette and that the marriage would never take place. At times she sensed his restlessness, or even his pangs of guilt, and the beginnings of anger would rise in her, but once he was in her arms, she knew he lost all desire to be elsewhere, and she always excused his moments of doubt as fleeting and unimportant.