Subj: Charade: Chapter 6
Date: 10/29/01 12:23:59 PM Central Standard Time
From: Nicole

December 3, 2008, Collinwood, 12:54 AM-PT

Constance crept through the house. She knew that almost all its inhabitants were in peaceful slumber and did her best not to make a sound. In her hand she held the letter. She was heading to the study. She knew that Daniel would still be awake or at least she hoped that he was. She knew that he would not be happy to see her. At this moment, she honestly did not care.

Hesitantly, she knocked twice on the door and stepped aside. “Who is it?” demanded the voice.

“It’s Constance. Can we talk?”

“Go to sleep, Constance! We have nothing to say to one another,” said Daniel nonchalantly. “As much as I want you to leave, I won’t give you money. You can only extort so much from me. My hospitality is as far as I’m willing to bend.”

Constance groaned and stepped back up to the door. “I don’t want to talk about money or your so-called hospitality,” she said. “I’m here to talk about mother.”

Daniel went silent. Constance could hear his heavy footsteps throb toward the door and he then open it. He looked more disheveled than she had ever seen him. He looked as if he had slept in the same suit for days. The dark circles had deepened beneath his eyes, making it appear as if he had gotten into a fight and someone had blacked both of his eyes. She almost felt sorry for him; she almost wished that she did not have to talk to him about this subject. Then again, she had things she needed to settle. “Come in,” whispered Daniel hoarsely. Constance complied and he shut the door behind her.

Daniel walked back behind his cluttered desk and motioned for Constance to take a seat. The only chair left was the one in front of the desk. This chair sat noticeably lower to the ground than the one behind the desk, giving the impression of the one behind the desk looking down on his guest. Constance declined to sit. Daniel nodded and asked, “Now tell me, what do you have to ask me about your mother?”

Constance cleared her throat. She suddenly became aware of the fact that she was gripping the letter much tighter in her hand than she had moments before. Should she really be so nervous? “Um . . . I want to ask if mother is coming back.”

“Coming back?” snorted Daniel. “Your mother is dead. Why would she come back?”

“Well, Angelique came back. If your mother can come back, why can’t mine? What if she comes back to avenge us for what happened to Josef. Aren’t we all at fault for that? I mean, what if she’s so pissed at us that she will come back?”

Daniel shook his head furiously but soon calmed. When he looked up at her, Constance could see that he was smiling. “What has brought on this change in you? I remember that when I brought you here, you said that you didn’t believe the stories about this house. You said that you didn’t believe that the dead could come back. What’s brought on this change?”

“Well, I was talking to Amy,” mumbled Constance. She did not want to think about her talk with Amy. She had argued long and hard with the woman. She knew that the woman’s mind was gone and yet she screamed so much that she made her cry. She had not cared if she hurt Amy’s feelings; she had only wanted her to shut up. Now she felt guilty. She had loved Amy as a teen. Amy was one of the few people she had gotten along within the family. She did not know what had changed since then to cause such and outburst of rage. “I was talking to Amy,” she repeated, “and she was telling me about the . . . ”

“Amy is crazy,” chided Daniel. “I considered you, of all people, smart enough not to listen to the ravings of a lunatic.”

“But she’s always been a bit eccentric but I don’t think she would try to lead me astray.”

“She doesn’t WANT to lead you astray but she can’t help it. Amy has gone off the deep end and she doesn’t know what she’s saying. The only thing you can do is grin and nod. If you’re basing your theories only on Amy’s rambling, I think you should forget you ever heard a word she said.”

“That’s not all.” Constance pulled the letter out of her pocket and held it in front of her face. Daniel tried to reach for it, but she pulled it away from his grasp. “Sylvia gave this to me when I got here.”

“So Sylvia gave you a note? How precious! What does it have to do with this subject?”

“Sylvia didn’t write the note. I asked Josef if he had written it, but he claimed that he didn’t. I don’t believe that any of the servants would write it. Besides, every person who works here except for Mrs. Castle has only been here for . . . say . . . ten years or less? Yeah, I think that’s right. See, none of them would know the author of the letter.”

“What are you getting at, Constance?” demanded Daniel.

“I think Quentin wrote the letter.”

Daniel stared at her wildly before rising from the desk. He walked up to her and tried to take the letter away from Constance, who continued to dodge him and hide the letter behind her back. “This is nonsense!” he screamed. “My father has been dead for nearly 14 years. He could not possibly write this note.”

“I thought so too! But it’s in his handwriting. It says things the way he said them. It seemed so familiar to me that I was shocked that I hadn’t realized it was his earlier. My God, it talks about things only Quentin knew! It’s from no one else.”

Daniel went still. Constance walked up to him and handed him the letter. He took the note from its envelope and examined it. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he recognized the handwriting to be his father’s. He kept the letter in his hands as he walked back to his desk. He opened a drawer and rammed the letter inside. “I’m going to examine this and probably give it back to you later. Go to bed, Constance.”

“Wait a minute! I want my letter back. He sent to me!” insisted Constance.

“I said that I would give it back to you. Now, I want you to leave. I can only take so much of you at a moment.”

“Why? What do I remind you of? Surely not mother, because I don’t look a damn thing like her. What is it Daniel?” asked Constance as she approached him. She moved behind his desk and stood eye to eye with him. She had never realized how short he was until then. “What about me scares you?”

“Do you honestly want to know?” Constance nodded. “Fine! You remind me of the harlot your mother was. God, that woman gallivanted around like some kind of drunken college girl at a fraternity party! I only put up with you because I know that I can only rely on your children to keep the family alive. Few people know of your heritage. I think it’s best that it is kept that way. You should feel honored that I didn’t turn you out and let everyone know that you’re nothing more than a bastard. A beautiful bastard, but that doesn’t change the facts.”

“That’s a pretty speech,” yawned Constance as she slowly clapped her hands. “But you act as if you come from a line of upstanding moral citizens. Do you even think you should be leading this house? I still wonder how two blue-eyed darlings could give birth the brown eyed hag. How do we know that your father really was Quentin?”

“Constance, shut up!”

“Have I hit a cord? Of course. But I speak the truth as I see it. Angelique was just as faithful to Quentin as my mother was to you. Wouldn’t be a lark if your father turned out to one of groveling admirers? Maybe it was Trask? I know you’d hate to be the spawn of a servant!”

“This is ridiculous!”

“And I’m not through,” insisted Constance happily. “What if it were Damien Edwards? At least he was a family friend. No . . . I’ve got it! Bruno, the horrible pianist. I’ve heard stories of how he was a loyal servant to your mother, of how he composed that song for your mother and how that was the only thing he could play after awhile. Obsession is grand, isn’t it? And of course she sacrificed him to get Quentin in trouble. That’s just way to get rid of an obsession: turn it against itself to harm your other fixation. That’s it! Your father was Bruno and you have just as much right to be in the house as I.”

Daniel’s face had gone completely red. Constance did not care. She finally found his weak spot. She wanted to exploit it as much as possible. “Shut up, now!” he barked. “I’m telling you to quiet now and leave. I don’t want to hear another word slip out of your mother about this subject.”

“Then how about another? Lets see . . . there’s why couldn’t my mother stop drinking when you were in the room? Why did she leave you and your money for another man? But lets stop talking about mother. Lets talk about how you failed your family. You barely graduated high school. You married the first woman her batted her pretty eyelashes your way and then wondered why she left you with two children, one of which you knew wasn’t your own. You’re forced to return home after fifteen years on your own because the job that ‘daddy’ gave you didn’t work out. And then you get to watch as your father takes the side of everyone but you . . . especially when he sides with the daughter you know is not yours. As I’ve said before, it’s always amazed me that your father liked me more than you. As much as a failure as I am, at least I’m not Daniel Collins.”

Constance knew she had gone too far, but she had been unable to stop herself. The moment she stopped talking, she felt Daniel’s warm hand land forcefully against her cheek. The slap stung at first impact but the pain soon died away. Constance only looked at him and laughed. His paltry slap had done nothing to her but energize her. “Shut up!” he screamed. “Get out and stay away! I can’t deal with you!”

Constance continued to laugh as she backed toward the door. “I suppose I’ve done enough damage for one night,” she sighed. “Until later.”

Constance hurried out the door and shut it. Seconds later, she head a vase slam against it and shatter to the ground. She listened back to the door and could hear Daniel rustle through his desk. He was looking for HER letter. The room silent for a moment but she could soon hear a man’s tears began to quietly fill the room. “Oh father,” he whispered, “what have I done to us all? Why did I let this woman back into our lives?” If Daniel said anything more, Constance was unable to hear it through his sobs. Constance did not know whom he was talking about but she did not care. He needed to feel sorry for whatever he had done. If he felt any sorrow over whatever he had done, Constance considered her job accomplished. She silently moved up the stairs and went to her room, now ready for a night’s sleep.

Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production.