Subj: Charade: Chapter 1
Date: 10/19/01 1:01:59 AM Central Standard Time
From: Nicole

Tranquility in love is a disagreeable calm.
-Moliere

November 30, 2008, Collinwood, 3:15 PM-NT

Constance leaned against the car, her eyes quietly scanning the layout to Collinwood. The great house had not changed since she had last seen it. Of course she and everyone who dared to live underneath its roof had changed a great deal. She could not deny it. She knew her new found peace was brought on by the children who now frolicked only yards behind her. She so loved seeing the world through their eyes. The snow had been such a great revelation to the twin island dwellers and they seemed unable to get enough of it. Constance would not interrupt their fun. Besides, Quentin watched them from the sidelines; his laughter matched that of the twins in pure joy. Constance wanted to turn back and watch but knew that it was best not to do so, recognizing that the moment she turned around she would be besieged by three warm bodies, each begging her to join them in the fun. For now, she could not; someone had to be the adult. She promised herself that she would get involved later.

Although she secretly dreaded it, Constance approached the door. The door opened before she even reached it. In the doorway stood a middle-aged woman dressed in black dress with her rust red hair twisted into a bun. Constance thought she looked like an evil headmistress at a boarding school. She had the feeling that she would be missing Mrs. Johnson. In her light, desperately crisp voice, the woman said, “I was wondering when you would make your way up here.”

“Sorry,” murmured Constance. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” She had not known that she was.

The woman nodded. She pointed a well-manicured finger out into the yard. “What about them?”

Constance hesitated but turned around. Gwynneth and William rolled in the snow, occasionally jumping up to toss surprisingly large snowballs at each other. Their clothes seemed drenched in melted ice. They would have to change the moment they stepped inside. As she had thought, Quentin stood to the side, a large smile plastered across his face and a pair of black frame glasses gripped loosely in his hand. He would not let them get in trouble . . . would he? He had once done this kind of thing on these same grounds, although he probably had not done so at his Victorian parents’ will. She knew very well that her lover had been a disobedient child. From the stories she had heard, she had feared that their children would be just as bad. But these were HIS children. She knew that there were quite a few things that he himself had done that would mortify him if either of the twins were ever to attempt to do them. She trusted that he would act as an excellent watchdog. “Let them play,” giggled Constance. “I won’t stop them.”

“But how will they find their way around the house?”

Constance almost spun around and hissed, “Because their father grew up here” but she caught herself before the words slipped out. Only a few people knew the truth about Quentin. She was willing to bet that this housekeeper would not be one of those few. “You can show me and I can show them later. They’re having a good time and I don’t want to ruin that.”

“A good authoritarian would,” stated the woman.

“Who said I was an authoritarian?” The woman shrugged. “Fine,” whispered Constance. “Now, if you don’t have any more objections to my motives, I’d like you to take me to our rooms.”

“What about your bags?”

“We’ll get them later.”

“If you say so,” sighed the woman.

The moment she turned her back, Constance rolled her eyes at the woman and stuck out her tongue. “Oh God,” she muttered beneath her breath. “I’m acting like one of the kids!” Just the thought of her and this strange woman getting into an argument consisting of “You started it” and “I know you are but what am I” made her burst into laughter. The housekeeper turned back, gave Constance a cold glare, and began to walk again. Constance repressed her laughter and followed. The woman spoke little as she walked through the building, her practical shoes squeaking down the floors, annoying to Constance to no end. She almost wanted to push the woman aside, say that she could find her way around on her own, and ask if she could have the two sets of keys she had been promised. She did not do this only so that she would not draw attention to herself. No one should be suspicious; no one should care.

The twins had separate rooms in the west wing. Their rooms were not too far away from Quentin’s room. Although the off-white walls were like those at home, these rooms were not designed with children in mind. The furniture was dark varnished wood, the style seemingly Victorian and regal. Seemingly expensive paintings and trinkets lined the walls and sat on dressers. The oriental rugs looked old but in good condition. They would not be after the kids got hold of them. These were definitely not children’s rooms, but who said that anyone in the Collins family knew anything about children. She knew that the twins would be able to deal with it. If not, they would find a way to have fun, be it the expense of others or their furnishings.

The moment Constance reached Quentin’s room she asked the woman to leave. She kept insisting that there was more to be seen, but Constance shooed her away. “I’ve seen all I want for now,” she had explained. “I need to rest.”

“But what about the others?” insisted the woman.

“They’ll be fine . . . Ms . . . ”

“Ms. Taylor.”

“Thank you. They’ll be fine, Ms. Taylor. Quentin has everything under control.”

Ms. Taylor smirked. “Quentin Collins?” Constance nodded hesitantly. "Wasn’t that your father?”

Constance bit her tongue so not to immediately speak. Her original line about being her own daughter was running into the problem of Quentin not wanting to change his name. Stubbornness, at this juncture at least, was proving not to be one of his better virtues. “Yes,” she said slowly, calmly, “my father was Quentin Collins, descended from the man born in 1870. My lover is descended from the man born in 1808. That man was master for a few years before leaving this house with his second wife and son.”

“But they all look so similar,” insisted Ms. Taylor.

“Is that such a bad thing? They’re all very handsome men.”

Ms. Taylor giggled as she began to step away. “You have an Electra Complex, don’t you.”

“I’m not making love to my father, just a carbon copy!” screamed Constance. “Dammit, let me rephrase that: I’m not making love to my father, period. My father and the man I’m with today are both very different men. That’s the honest to God truth.”

“If you insist, Ms. Douglas.”

“I do.”

“Then very well,” moaned Ms. Taylor. “If you need me, just call.”

Constance mumbled a quick “thank you” and Ms. Taylor left the room. Constance suddenly remembered the keys and took off after her, asked for the two sets of keys she had been promised, and then fled back to Quentin’s room with one of key sets in hand. Ms. Taylor promised that she would give the other one to Quentin. Constance did not lock the door just in case that promise was left to blow in the wind. She did not mind the threat of possible intrusion; she was content just to lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling. Part of her felt as if she should join her family outside. “But it’s so warm in here,” she mumbled aloud. “I’ll just ruin their fun.”

“There’s no more fun left to be had.” Constance sat up to see Quentin standing in the doorway. He slowly approached her, his hands stuffed in his pockets and a smile stretched across his face. The front of his sweater was covered in water. “It’s all over for now,” he sang gleefully.

“I take it that you were attacked by the wet ones?” asked Constance, her eyes failing to waver from the wet slick near the bottom of the gray sweater.

“I was hugged mercilessly by giggling children until they realized that their mission had been completed and that their father was indeed partially drenched.”

“Complaints?”

Quentin seemed to think about for a moment before smiling wider and whispering, “Of course not.”

“That’s a good boy.”

“Did you expect anything less?”

“Not really, but I can never be too sure with you. Oh yeah, did you get your keys?” asked Constance as she attempted to move away from the bed.

Quentin shook his head as he moved to help her up. “Was I supposed to?”

“Yes, Ms. Taylor said she would find you and give you a set. God, she didn’t. Bitch. Can Carolyn just not find good help? Did they all just leave?”

“It’s just a misunderstanding,” insisted Quentin. “And you need to cut the woman some slack. It’s not a big deal.”

“No! Now it’s ‘I forgot to get you the keys,’ the next minute it’s ‘I forgot your kids were playing near the fireplace!”

“That’s ridiculous. First things first, the kids aren’t stupid enough to play near the fireplace. Secondly, there are enough kids running in out of this house that at least one other person besides Ms. Taylor will be watching them. But, if worst comes to worst and she is in charge when either of the twins are injured, I’ll personally bring you her head.”

“That’s not funny! Besides, I wouldn’t want her head. I’d want her job and possibly her money. Her head would be much too messy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Quentin hugged her close to his chest and asked, “Can we change the subject? I’d rather not spend my time alone with you plotting how to damage the life of some poor housekeeper.”

“Understood.” Constance wrapped her arms around his waist but pulled away quickly. “You’re wet! You’re probably so cold.”

“Just a little,” he winced

“And all your stuff is in the car. Are you wearing something underneath the sweater?”

“The water soaked through that too.”

“Poor baby. You need to get out of those clothes.”

“Do you have any suggestions for what I should change into afterward?”

“I’ve got a few,” purred Constance. Her hands once again slipped around his waist and she laid her head on his chest. She could no longer feel the freeze of the water; she could only feel the rising heat that vented from his body. She looked up at him and his mouth descended onto hers, calm and gentle at first, but soon both of them working at a fevered pitch. Her hands went beneath the sweater and sent it flying over his head. She started to slip off the shirt beneath it but stopped. She could feel another presence in the room. She released Quentin and turned to see Gwynneth and William standing in the doorway, both of them wide-eyed but neither surprised. “Um . . . did you have fun?” she managed to stutter.

“Sure,” said Gwynneth cheerfully. She turned to William and asked, “Wouldn’t you say so?”

“Sure,” mumbled the boy. If he was disturbed, it did not show. Constance supposed that his odd brush with her memories had jaded him to finding shows of affection disturbing. Gwynneth, on the other hand, had never been bothered be even the hint of intimacy. William turned to Constance and said, “We met Carolyn.”

“Really? What did she say?”

“She said that we were adorable, charming children and that she was going to see a friend this afternoon that had children our age,” answered Gwynneth.

“And you were both wondering if you could go,” said Quentin.

“Yeah.”

Quentin looked over to Constance, his eyes filled with relief. “Well, I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Should they really be allowed to go, Constance? Have they been good enough?”

“Please, momma, please,” begged the children, their hands posed in false prayer. She knew that they were playing. They knew that she would allow them to go.

“I don’t know, Quentin. I...I...well, why not?” she said quietly. “If it’s okay with Quentin.”

“I think it’s fine.”

The twins cheered and jumped up and down, holding onto one another and smiling brightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” they squealed.

“No problem. Now listen,” said Constance, “we need to get your clothes from the car and get you ready to go.”

“There’s no need to get the bags. Ms. Taylor’s already out to get them,” said William nonchalantly.

“She has?” asked Constance, her eyes immediately shifting back to Quentin’s in anger.

“Yeah, she said that she thought that’s was what needed to be done,” said Gwynneth. “She doesn’t think much of you, mom. I saw it in her mind. She didn’t care what you wanted.”

“That’s fine,” murmured Constance. “Just go change. Come see us before you leave.”

The twins nodded and began to leave. Gwynneth turned back, rifling through her pockets as she walked toward Quentin. She removed a set of keys from her pocket and placed them in her father’s hand. “Ms. Taylor asked me to give these to you.”

“Thanks, Gwyn.” The girl smiled and ran from the room. Quentin slipped the keys into his pocket and shrugged. “Maybe you’re right,” he sighed. “But as long as she doesn’t do anything too horrible, it will be all right.”

“I suppose so.” Constance took a seat back on the bed, letting her toes drag the floor. “Well, things seem to be going fine. Carolyn likes the children. That’s good.”

“It is. And it’s good for them to meet other children their age,” added Quentin. “They spend too much time with adults.”

Constance could only nod in agreement. More than anything, she wanted the twins to get to know other children. Neither Gwynneth nor William seemed able to get along with the children at school. If anything, this trip would be good for them if it meant that they had met new people. “These are all good developments. What will we do with them after they get back?”

“I have to show them the house, give them the grand tour as only I can.”

“I bet. Tell me, you are going to be careful about that, aren’t you? There are some places in the house that we certainly don’t want them visiting.”

“True, but we have to show them,” insisted Quentin. “If we don’t, they’ll find out on their own without knowing any of the dangers.”

Constance nodded. “Where are the dangerous places, Quentin?”

“In all honesty, the entire house is a danger zone. There are various hidden panels scattered throughout the house, each one dark and dirty. Most of them lead to the west wing, whatever that may mean. For me, that was always a convenience. Now, there are probably rooms in this wing that aren’t fit to stay in, the attic and the basement are messes, and then there’s the east wing.”

“What’s in the east wing?”

Quentin grinned sheepishly as he said, “I don’t think you’ll believe me.”

“Try me,” sang Constance. “It can’t be too unbelievable.”

“You asked for it. There is a room in the east wing that serves as a portal into Parallel Time.”

Constance did her best to choke back her laughter, but she failed, letting it fall freely into the nearly quiet air. “I’m sorry, Quentin. I hope you don’t take offense but that’s just silly.”

“None taken. But it’s not silly. I have seen this phenomenon.”

“Really?” Quentin nodded. “Fascinating. So you’re telling me that you were able to peak into another time band?”

“Yes. Even more fascinating is the fact that both Barnabas and Julia were able to visit this time band, meet our counterparts, and interfere in the way that only Barnabas and Julia can.”

“That is amazing.” Constance fell back into the bed, letting the new mattress buffer her travel worn body as she stretched. She was truly amazed by this information. She had no idea that such an interesting phenomenon would take root in Collinwood. Not only this, she knew the people who had visited this strange new world. She would have to ask Julia about her experiences. “Wait a minute, how they get into Parallel Time?”

“They stepped into the room and waited for it to change,” explained Quentin.

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“Oh God, if either of the kids were to get to that room, they could accidently get sucked into a different time band and not know how to get out. We have to protect them!”

“And we will.” Quentin laid next to her on the bed, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head against her shoulder. “Besides, it might not work any more.”

“Why?”

“It seems that the Collinwood of Parallel Time burned to the ground in 1970. Even if they rebuilt it, I doubt the room would function as it did before. Whatever caused the boundaries of time to wear thin have probably healed by now. The room probably no longer poses any real threat.”

“That’s good to know.” Constance turned to face him and their lips softly brushed together. “Hmm . . . weren’t we going to get you out of those wet clothes?”

Quentin smiled as he shifted above her. “What if someone were to walk in on us?” he asked slyly. “It might be quite a shock to some housekeepers who will supposedly be bringing us our luggage.”

“I don’t care.” Constance ran her hand beneath the wet white shirt and began to lift it up. “She can see whatever she wants to see. It might be a good thing for her to see. Something tells me that she hasn’t seen this kind of display often.”

“You are so incorrigible,” purred Quentin, his fingers slipping between the buttons of her fleece shirt.

“Would you like me any other way?”

Quentin giggled as he eased the shirt from her shoulders. “I don’t think I’d like to try you any other way. There’s no telling what would happen.”

“Remember that, Collins,” she said. “I don’t want to find out that you’ve been chasing down my parallel counterpart. I’d have to hurt you.”

“That’s what I was hoping to hear,” hummed Quentin as he fumbled with her bra. “I would expect no less of you, my love.”

Constance silenced him after that phrase. If he said anything more, the spell would be broken and she would not be as pleased with him. But now, she was riveted by him. Even the new discoveries of the east wing paled in comparison to the feel of his hands floating over her body. Whatever lurked in the shadows would have to wait until they were done. She had a familiar frontier to rediscover.

Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production.