Curse of Black Tor

by Toombs, Jane

  “I am Martha Jamison,” she said. “I resumed my maiden name. I was Johann Collier's wife, yes. I'd like to forget it. The past was—very painful.”

  Matthew spoke first. “Personally, I never believed you were guilty,” he said.

  “Guilty of what?” Josephine asked.

  “The newspapers hinted of irregularities in Johann Collier's death,” Matthew said. “Scandal sheets—that's all they are.”

  “I don't remember much about it,” Josephine said. “Didn't he commit suicide?”

  “The police decided he had,” Matthew said. “They—”

  “I believe you should rejoin your guests, Cathleen,” Jules cut in. “It's rude to keep them waiting.”

  “Martha told me she'd been married,” Josephine said. “She didn't lie to me. What do I care who she was married to? What difference does it make?”

  Cathleen put an arm over Josephine's shoulders. “Now that we know who Martha is, we also know what kind of person she is. Hardly fit to care for an innocent like you, Josie.”

  “I'm not Josie! Don't you call me that!” Josephine flung off Cathleen's arm and looked about the clearing, her eyes wide and distraught.

  Jules took Josephine's arm. “We're going back to the house,” he said. Then he glanced at the group left under the flickering lanterns. “Charn, you lead and I'll bring up the rear so no one will lose their way.”

  Martha hurried to her room as soon as they reached the house. She closed her door and sat on the bed. Would Jules want her to leave immediately? Was there a way off the island at night?

  Jules hadn't looked at or spoken to her after learning that she was Marty Collier. He saw it as deception, pure and simple. I'm Martha Jamison, she said to herself. Always. I tried to be what Johann wanted—Marty. But I couldn’t be. I was just Martha, after all.

  Josephine burst into the room. “ Oh, please don't go away from Black Tor, Martha!” she cried. She sat on the bed Indian fashion and touched Martha's arm. “I know how you don't want to be Marty—why you didn't want to say you were. Cathleen was mean to tell like she did in front of everybody. She's jealous because of Jules. But I need you here. I need one friend. Please, Martha.”

  “I think whether I stay is up to Jules, don't you?” Martha said. “After all, he may feel I shouldn't be your companion. ”

  “That's silly,” Josephine said.

  But Josephine didn't remember what the newspapers had hinted—that Marty Collier was the model for the depraved Nida.

  Martha smiled wanly at her. “Why don't you go down and join the party,” she suggested. “You'll miss the prizes and—”

  “I don't care about Cathleen's old party,” Josephine said. “She thinks she's so irresistible, anyway, hanging on to your—your friend Bran so he couldn't even speak to you tonight.”

  Had Bran been in the group who had heard Cathleen denounce her? Martha wondered. She hadn't noticed; all she'd seen was Jules's set face, cold and unfriendly. Josephine had been there and Charn. And Matthew.

  “I was surprised to see your Uncle Matthew as the—in that costume tonight,” Martha said. “He seems so quiet.”

  “Oh, Cathleen probably told him it was to educate everyone about folklore or old customs or something like that. He's sort of a fanatic about those things.” She giggled. “Aunt Natalie will be furious when she finds out.”

  She stared at Martha. “What was that movie all about? Sex and witchcraft?”

  Martha nodded. “More or less. My—Johann wasn't quite...well. He wasn't normal. He saw life as he portrayed it in The Unmasking of Hell. Distorted.” Josephine grimaced.

  “He sounds awful. No wonder you don't want to be Marty Collier.”

  Not awful, Martha thought, but before she could say anything there was a knock at the door and Jules came in.

  “Please go to your room, Josephine,” he said.

  “I want Martha to stay at Black Tor,” she told him quickly.

  Martha touched Josephine's arm. “Do what your brother says, Josephine. Please.”

  Josephine got up from the bed and went to the door, giving Jules a black look as she passed him. He shut the door behind her.

  Martha remained seated on the bed. He stood over her in silence.

  “You could have told me,” he said at last.

  She shook her head. “You wouldn't have hired me.” She nervously fingered the coral necklace under her shirt.

  “I'd like you to stay on until I can make-—other arrangements,” he said.

  “Of course.” She didn't look at him.

  “Martha...I must apologize for tonight's—performance. I had no idea Cathleen meant to—” He broke off.

  “Expose me?” she asked, her words clipped. “Perhaps it was for the best. At least now I’m sure it wasn’t you who…” Too late she realized what she was saying.

  “What wasn't me?”

  She took a deep breath. “The first night I was at Black Tor, a man came into my room—I hadn't locked my door—and he tried to—” She rose from the bed, walked to her dresser and unhooked the coral necklace. “He thought I would let him—make love to me because he knew I was Marty Collier. I screamed and reached for the light, and he ran. I never did see who he was. I decided later it was probably Simon, but I never did know for sure. After that I kept my door locked at night.”

  “And you thought I... ?”

  Martha turned to face Jules. “I didn't really know who the man was,” she told him. “So I said nothing. I understand why you want me to leave Black Tor. But I want you to understand me, too. I'm not—not Nida, not the heroine of Johann's movie. I never was.”

  He grasped her arms.

  “Please, Jules,” she said.

  “I want you,” he told her. “I've felt you respond to me.”

  “Let me go. Please.” Tears filled her eyes.

  “You could stay in Victoria,” he said. “I'd—”

  “No!” she cried, twisting from him. “Go away! You're like all the rest—you're like Johann. You want to believe I'm Nida—a windup sex doll. And I'm not, I'm not! Go away, oh, go away!”

  He stared at her for a moment, then turned and left the room. She locked the door behind him, threw herself on the bed and cried until she was exhausted. Then, numbed, she changed into her nightgown and crawled under the covers.

  She dreamed of Bran, with his brown beard blowing in the ocean breeze. But when she looked at him again she saw it was Jules, instead, Jules with his grandfather's beard—with old Abel's beard. Jules against the gray sea, the two of them on a boat that rocked in choppy waters. The black fin of a killer whale followed the boat, and every so often the black-and-white head would pop up for a look and smile its sinister smile...

  Someone was knocking on her door. Martha's eyes flew open to daylight.

  “Are you all right, Martha?” Josephine’s voice

  She got out of bed and unlocked the door, still bemused by her dream. Was that why she'd dreamed of old Abel before she'd seen his picture? Combining Bran and Jules?

  “I heard you crying last night,” Josephine said.

  “I'm all right now,” Martha told her.

  “Are you—did Jules say... ?”

  “I'm going to be here for a little while, anyway.” Let Jules explain to his sister.

  “I went downstairs for a while last night,” Josephine said. “Cathleen was nasty to everybody and the party broke up early. The people who were going to stay at Black Tor went to the Empress, instead. Bran told me to tell you he was coming by to pick us up about ten this morning and we'd have lunch out.”

  “But Jules....”

  “Bran said he asked Jules before the party and Jules thought it would be a nice outing.” Josephine made a face.

  Martha thought of the scene with Jules in her room and the earlier nastiness of the circle in the clearing. She wanted to be away from Black Tor and its people. Except for Josephine.

  “All right, let's plan to go,” she agreed. “Did Bran say where?
”

  “He said he'd surprise us.”

  Sarah ran into the room and jumped on the bed, bouncing. “What's a surprise?” she said.

  Josephine looked at Sarah for a moment, then at Martha. “Maybe we could—take her along?” she asked.

  Martha hesitated. Josephine's glance had been calculating. Did she intend to run off and see her mysterious Diego while they were out that day, hoping that Sarah would distract both Martha and Bran?

  “We'll have to see,” Martha said. “Maybe.”

  “I saw Uncle Matthew last night,” Sarah said. “He was dressed in a costume. I asked him if he was a monk, but he said he was a sorcerer. Then I asked him if he could call Shishchuikul out of the mountain, and he said he could.”

  She couldn’t tell Sarah the truth about last night, so she asked, “Who's that?”

  “Shishchuikul? Oh, he's sort of a monster who lives inside the mountain. He's got red hair. Only really bright red. Not like yours, Martha.”

  Josephine laughed. “You've been listening to Uncle Matthew's Indian stories again. I don't know how you remember all the names. You ought to tell them to Bran today. I’ll bet he'd like to hear about Shishchuikul,”

  “Are we going out with Bran? The one who took Martha on the tallyho?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don't you like him?” Josephine asked.

  “Maybe he won't want to take me,” Sarah said.

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, just because.”

  “You're silly,” Josephine told her. “Don't you want to go?”

  “Oh, yes, I do want to.”

  Martha watched the two of them and felt her throat constrict. I’ll miss Sarah, too, she thought. Josephine and Sarah. They seem almost like my family. Maybe because they feel as displaced as I do.

  “I heard Simon tell Aunt Natalie that Uncle Norman won't last another week,” Sarah said. “But how can Simon tell?”

  “He's guessing,” Josephine said. “But he might be right.”

  “Does—will Uncle Norman's heart stop beating?” Sarah pressed her hand against her own chest. “I can feel mine inside.” Her eyes grew round. “What if my heart stops? Will I die?”

  Martha put her arms around Sarah. “Your heart will go on beating for years and years. Your Uncle Norman is old, and his heart's just tired and worn out.”

  Sarah nodded. “That's what Uncle Norman said. He told me I had to watch over Josephine because he couldn't anymore. But I forget sometimes, so I'm glad you came, Martha. Uncle Norman is, too. He said you were sensible. He said you wouldn't let anyone railroad Josephine into a place. One of those places, he said.”

  Josephine's tawny eyes stared into Martha's. “Please don't leave Black Tor,” she said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Josephine received permission from Aunt Natalie for Sarah to join them in their outing with Bran.

  “Natalie's upset about something,” Josephine said. “She hardly listened to me. She probably found out about Uncle Matthew at the party last night.”

  “Wouldn't he have told her what he was going to do?” Martha asked.

  Josephine shook her head. “She never approves of anything. She was a sour old maid too long before she married Matthew.”

  “Has she always lived at Black Tor?”

  “Ever since my mother died. She's run the house, too. Daddy wasn't afraid of her, but he usually let her have her way—it was easier than arguing, he said.”

  “But when Jules was married, didn't Cynthia... ?”

  “Cynthia didn't count. Besides, she hated Black Tor. And she was afraid of Natalie. Everyone is. Maybe not Jules, though he humors her. And now that daddy's so sick, she runs him.”

  “What do you mean 'runs him'?”

  Josephine shrugged. “Oh, she takes good care of him. But in her own way. Like having Simon when daddy didn't want a male attendant.”

  “Is Matthew afraid of her?”

  “I suppose so. Although he does go off on his field trips when he wants to. Cynthia liked him. She said he was a romantic. Sarah likes him, too.”

  “You know, Josephine, Sarah should be in school. She has no friends her own age.”

  “I know. But then Louella would never come out of her room. You've seen her gliding down the stairs like a ghost. You turn around and she's disappeared. Jules told me that's why he continues to have Louella teach Sarah—if Sarah was sent off to school, Louella would just fade away like she was doing before. She is an excellent teacher-Sarah seems to know everything.”

  “Sarah's a bright child,” Martha said, “but children need children.”

  “I'll be a child for her,” Josephine said. She spread her arms and whirled across Martha's bedroom to the window. “I don't have any friends my age, either. Except you, and you're five years older.”

  And I'll soon be gone, Martha thought. What will happen to Josephine?

  “Don't you have Diego now?” she asked.

  “We have to wait,” Josephine said. “I can't leave Black Tor while daddy's still alive. They could get him to change the Will—I know they've tried. But daddy trusts me. We talk every day. And Diego has his own reasons for waiting.”

  “But why can't he come to the house?”

  “No!” Josephine cried. “Something bad would happen like before, like the two years... They'd never let Diego and me stay together.” Martha remembered the previous night's unpleasant surprise, but, like Josephine, she didn't want to think about her problems.

  Bran arrived on time, and they were down the stairs and out the door almost before he'd had time to park and get out of the car.

  “Three beautiful girls,” he said. “What did I do to deserve such a pleasant fate?”

  “This is Sarah,” Martha told him. “We invited her to join us.”

  Bran bowed slightly. “Charmed,” he said.

  Sarah smiled shyly, staring at him.

  Josephine and Sarah sat in the back of the VW, while Martha climbed in front with Bran.

  “Where are we going?” Sarah asked as they drove away from Black Tor.

  “To a house even bigger than yours,” Bran said. “Craigdarroch Castle.” Then he turned to Martha. “We saw the place from Beacon Hill Park, if you remember.”

  “I know all about Craigdarroch,” Sarah said from the back. “Robert Dunsmuir never got to live there because he died before they finished building it. His wife, Joan, lived there all alone for eighteen years, and when she died no one wanted to buy it because it was too big. Aunt Louella told me all about the old places in Victoria.”

  “The Dunsmuirs must have been millionaires,” Martha said.

  “Coal,” Bran said.

  “Here on the island? Coal mines?” Martha's tone was disbelieving.

  “The mines are worked out now, but California imported a lot of Vancouver Island coal before the turn of the century. There's even a town called Dunsmuir in California.”

  They drove up a hill on a street lined with older houses, and suddenly the castle was before them. Martha was disappointed. Houses crowded to either side made the multi-chimnied building seem a great gray elephant in a pen.

  “The grounds used to be extensive,” Bran said. “Twenty acres. But all of it was auctioned off after Joan Dunsmuir died.”

  They climbed steep stone steps into a paneled entrance hall with a fireplace whose legend read:

  WELCOME EVER SMILES AND FAREWELL GOES OUT SIGHING.

  “The brochure says the castle has a minstrel gallery,” Bran said.

  “It's for musicians,” Sarah explained. “Aunt Louella says they used to sit there and play and you could hear the music all over the house.”

  As she spoke, music drifted down the stairs—pianos, someone singing a hymn.

  “The minstrel gallery?” Martha asked.

  “No—the brochure says the Victoria School of Music uses the castle,” Bran said.

  Every room was paneled in glowing wood. But in the hall and on
the stairs where there were no windows, the effect was one of gloom.

  Martha found the darkness oppressive, and she wondered if Joan Dunsmuir hadn't found it depressing, sitting alone in the castle her husband had built for her.

  “The castle's all right,” Sarah said as they climbed back into the VW. “I liked the fireplace with the colored windows best, but Black Tor's really nicer to live in.”

  “I can't imagine living in Craigdarroch,” Martha said.

  I don't belong at Black Tor, either, she told herself. I'm not the right person to run a great house and manage servants. Not that Jules ever asked me to. Or would.

  “Now for Point Ellice House,” Bran said. “Then, lunch on a beached ship. ”

  “The Point Ellice House was more of a museum than anything else, with objects stuffed in every available space. Martha left with a confused impression of multitudes of O'Reillys whose every belonging from swaddling clothes to pictures taken in the coffin had been indiscriminately preserved. Again, the grounds had once been lovely, with green lawns sloping to the river—a river now completely commercial. The place was surrounded by factories and warehouses, log booms floated in the river.

  They drove across the Point Ellice bridge, and Martha remembered the earlier bridge collapse where Abel's first wife had died. They passed more manufacturing and lumberyards, then came to the Princess Mary Restaurant.

  “Was this a real boat?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes,” Bran told her.

  “I've never been out on a boat,” Sarah said. “No one wants to take me. Martha went with Charn and they caught some salmon.”

  “That's what I plan to have for lunch,” Bran said. “I haven't had good salmon for years.”

  After they'd eaten, Sarah and Martha went to use the bathroom, when they came out, there was no one at their table.

  As Martha followed Sarah outside, she saw Bran and Josephine by the car. Josephine was looking up at him, he down at her. Neither of them moved, seemingly frozen in position.

  Sarah ran ahead of Martha to the car. Bran turned away from Josephine and smiled at the child, and a flicker of recognition lit the edge of Martha's mind.

  “I wish we could stay all day and all night and tomorrow,” Josephine said. “I don't want to go back.”