Evil Unearthed: Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Kathleen stepped carefully out of the sea-plane and onto the Maljardin dock, all the while looking up at the top of the cliffs to where the Desmond chateau stood silhouetted against the sky. She could not believe how much progress had been made since she had last seen it. The rubble had been cleared away and the central portion of the mansion had been roofed and restored, and there was light pouring from the windows. However, as she climbed the cliff path at Julia's side, she couldn't help wondering if this was all an illusion; it seemed so different than the fire-ravaged hulk it had once been.

Indeed, as she drew closer, she could see the unfinished portions and the men working on them even after sunset. It was as Bill had told her. Huge floodlights illuminated the grounds, and the otherwise picturesque scene which she had viewed from a distance was ruined somewhat by the sound of drills and the sight of dust flying everywhere.

"I had them work on the great hall first," Julia explained. "I simply could not climb all those stairs to the office you had made," and she threw open the great doors which looked new, but which, Kathleen noted, were exact reproductions of the old ones. "Welcome to my home, Kathleen!"

The smell of paint and plaster dust was strong here, but the great hall was intact, and there was a fire in the fireplace. This should have lent a cheerful air to the vast space, but Kathleen couldn't help noticing the lurid colour of the flames as they were reflected in a portrait which hung prominently on the wall across from a large leather sofa. Moving closer, she realized with no surprise that it was none other than the portrait of Jacques Eloi des Mondes.

"So," she said, hoping desperately that she sounded matter-of-fact, "You've gotten over your earlier aversion to this rakish rogue then?"

"Oh quite!" said Julia, sweeping her hand in an arc to indicate the hall as a whole. "It just seemed so empty without something to give it focus. Isn't he handsome?"

Kathleen looked at the portrait more closely. When she had seen it in her makeshift office in the north tower, she had appraised it purely for artistic value, and had found it a stunning example of Baroque painting. However, after what she had learned from the journal of Reverend Matthew Dawson and from Vangie Abbott, she found herself ignoring the painter's style and looking only at the man in the frame. His eyes were keen as arrows and seemed to have a cunning look in them which she did not like, and wondering for a moment why it bothered her so, she realized that it was because the same devious glint was now habitually in Julia's eyes as well.

"He does bear a striking resemblance to your father. I remember when we attended his funeral. The pictures of him when he was young were really wonderful!"

"Yes," said Julia. "He was a worthy man, though I sometimes think he was a little weak."

Kathleen stared at her friend in absolute disbelief.

"Weak? You always thought of him as your role-model!"

"Of course I did. You're right. I must be tired. Would you like a drink?" Julia was noticeably shaken by this slip-up, but all Kathleen could do was play along until she could find out if anything of her friend still remained. So far, she held out little hope.

"Alright," she said, and watched Julia fairly glide over to a sideboard and pour some white wine from an ornate decanter.

Taking her filled glass, Kathleen sat down on the sofa and waited for Julia to take her place beside her. As she sipped her wine, she thought of the toast they had made when Julia had first arrived. Then, she had been in control of things; now, she was all at sea and uncertain of how to navigate the dangerous waters of this new situation without running aground or breaking up.

“My dear, I can see that you’ve been under a terrible strain these past few days,” Julia said now. “If I have caused it, I am truly sorry. Now that you’re here, I trust that I’ll be able to make amends.”

“I am glad to be here, if only to reassure myself that you are alright.”

“Well,” said Julia, “I must say that I feel almost like a new woman! My life’s been too many years chasing impossible dreams. It’s time to settle down, and what better place to do so than here?”

“So why did you lead me to believe that you were still planning to turn this place into a hotel?”

“Well, I thought you wouldn’t work as diligently if you knew it was to be my private home.”

“You should know me better than that, Julia!”

“I know, and I do apologize. I must say that the plans you showed me at dinner look very good.”

"Thanks," said Kathleen. "I did a lot of research to put them together."

"I'm sure you did," said Julia, absently twirling her glass in her fingers.

"Yes," Kathleen pursued. "I researched every aspect of life on Maljardin in the sixteen-hundreds in order to be as thorough as possible, and I found a lot of interesting information on your family's past."

"Do tell, Kathleen! Do tell!"

"Well, take that man in the portrait for instance. What do you know about him?" She knew she was gambling now, but she had to see what Julia knew and whether she was controlled by Jacques or was actually complicit in whatever his plans might be.

"I know that he was daring and bold," said Julia, "and," she added with special emphasis, "willing to do anything to achieve his goals. In short," again resuming her airy tone, "a man after the heart of any Desmond!"

"But what was he like? Did your family ever speak of him? Surely your mother must have mentioned him. She was always a great historian, after all. She told me many stories about the Desmonds of the past." Kathleen thought with fondness of Emily Desmond, Nee Blare, whose bookish temperament was more than a match for her own. In fact, it was due to her interests in Desmond history that she had first been introduced to Jean Paul, and throughout their marriage, she had become the Desmond family chronicler and secret-keeper.

"Well then," Julia countered, "did she tell you anything about Monsieur des Mondes?"

"No," said Kathleen, "but I felt strongly that she knew something about him. I asked her about him once." This was an outright lie, but it had the desired effect. The colour left Julia's face and she almost dropped the glass she was twirling.

"My mother? You asked my mother about Jacques Eloi des Mondes? Why should she know anything about him. She was good and pure and had nothing to do with--"

"With what?" Kathleen felt that Julia was becoming herself now and wanted her to admit what was going on. Instead, there was a long silence, and then Julia looked straight at her, and the shifty look was gone from her eyes. What was left was a kind of frozen helplessness, and suddenly Kathleen was certain that whatever was going on here, Julia was in over her head. She resolved then and there to do what she could to help her.

"Kat," Julia finally said, "I don't know what's happening here. I don't even clearly remember asking you to come, but I really am glad you're here! I've been so caught up in--in this weird obsession of mine!"

"Well," Kathleen ventured, "maybe it's time to chuck it all. Maybe it's time to pack up and leave!"

"No," said Julia. "No! We can't do that!"

"Well then, can you tell me about how this all started? When I left, you wanted this portrait destroyed, and now it's hanging here as though it had never left."

"Look," said Julia. "I can't tell you everything now. I just can't. All I can say is that I have to stay here and live here. That's the only chance I have now for any kind of happiness."

"Well," said Kathleen, "I must say that your choice in jewelry is rather macabre."

Julia lifted the locket from around her neck and regarded it curiously.

"You're right," she finally said. "I hate it!"

"Then I have something you'll like better," said Kathleen, "and unfastened the gold cross that Stephen had given her and handed it to Julia. She attempted several times to put it around her own neck, but her fingers seemed to falter and three times it fell into her lap. Trying for the fourth time, she finally managed the clasp, and as soon as the cross touched her skin, she seemed to hold herself a little straighter than before and a peaceful smile played across her firelit features.

"I didn't think crosses were exactly your style, Kat," she said with one of her merry laughs.

"It's true that I'm not much of a beads and bells girl anymore," said Kathleen, "but this cross is from a friend. I think it might help you."

"Why? Was it blessed by a saint or something?"

"Or something," said Kathleen, thinking to herself that if there was ever a candidate for sainthood, it was Vangie Abbott. "I just think it'll come in handy."

"Then I'll keep it for sure," said Julia, finishing her drink and rising. "Now, what about a tour?"

Kathleen readily assented, and the two women spent the next while wandering the corridors and galleries which had already been restored. There were, however, makeshift walls and fences blocking off the unfinished passages and rooms, and Kathleen noted that the towers flanking the mansion proper were not actually connected to the building except by catwalks made of scaffolding. As they walked up stairs and around corners, Kathleen noticed the sounds of the drills and other tools growing louder.

"How do you sleep with all that noise?" she asked Julia.

"Well," said Julia, "I often camp out in the great hall, but if the noise is loud there, well, I'll show you."

She led Kathleen down into the great hall again, and then Kathleen noticed another set of steps branching off and descending further into the depths of the house. At the bottom, Julia took from her pocket a flashlight with which she illuminated the way ahead.

Kathleen was suddenly reminded of Edgar Alan Poe's short story, "The Cask of Amontillado," for in the beam of Julia's light, she saw ahead of her an archway which looked original, and beyond that was a vaulted ceiling and a tunnel leading to a larger chamber. As her eyes adjusted to her surroundings, she heard her footsteps echoing off stone walls, and she saw cut into the walls of the larger chamber long shelves or niches, and in the niches were many oblong boxes, and it was with deepening dread that she realized that these boxes had curving tops ornately carved with the names of their owners.

"Julia!" she gasped. "You can't tell me that you're sleeping in the crypt!"

"I know it seems strange," said Julia, "but I've been having a lot of headaches lately, and this is the only place where the noise of the construction doesn't penetrate."

"Headaches? Are you sure you're alright? Maybe I can find a doctor to examine you. There's one on the main island that I know."

"No, Kat. Really, it's alright. See?"

Julia showed her a curtained alcove in which was the futon from her former bedroom.

"Trust me," she said reassuringly. "I chose this place purely for its silence."

Kathleen noticed her eyes shifting despite her confident tone, and remembered with what revulsion she usually viewed anything to do with death. However, there was no way that she was going to confront her friend about this tonight. She was very tired and had been thrown off balance by the strange changes of mood that Julia had exhibited.

"Well," she said now, "do you have a place for me to sleep?"

"Yes," said Julia. "There's a room made up in your old north tower, though it's not so high up as your office was.

"That was Bill's room!"

"Yes," said Julia, "but he's not using it now, is he?" She had assumed her former airy tone again. "Come now, Kathleen! You're not superstitious, are you?"

"No," said Kathleen. "You just surprised me, I suppose."

"Alright then," said Julia. "Let us leave this gloomy place, and I'll show you to your room."

Kathleen followed her friend who was not her friend through the gothic mansion which was originally going to be a modern hotel, her mind a seething mass of doubts and fears. How was she going to get through to Julia so that she would confide in her? She felt that Julia was her best friend, but it was only now in the light of current events that she wondered if her conviction that Julia felt the same way was actually based on objective fact rather than subjective self-delusion. Soon, Julia paused before a door at the end of a long hall and stood aside for her to enter.

"You'll be comfortable here, I trust?"

"I think so, Julia. Thank you!"

"We'll get to work bright and early in the morning, shall we?"

"Bright and early," Kathleen said, adopting a cheery tone which belied her internal uncertainty.

"Oh," said Julia, taking the cross from her neck and handing it to Kathleen, "you really should keep this. It really isn't my style."

Kathleen took the cross with dismay, but she smiled brightly and thanked her friend warmly.

"And now," said Julia, "goodnight!"

"Goodnight, Julia," said Kathleen as she watched her friend's retreating figure.

Putting the cross around her own neck again, she walked into the room which was furnished in a Spartan fashion. She thought of Bill as she put her bags in the corner and examined the folding camp-bed set beneath the high window.

"I'm sorry you were brought into this, Bill," she said aloud. "It wasn't fair. Still, at least you're at peace now. I still have to figure all of this out!"

"You are not the only one, Kathleen," said Vangie's voice in her mind. "While the cross was with Julia, I was able to determine that she is being controlled by a dark force, but it is not Jacques Eloi des Mondes. He may be behind it all, but Julia is in the grip of another spirit. You must try to give her the cross again if you can."

"Will you speak to her in her mind? How are you able to do so with me?"

"Your mind is unclouded, Kathleen. It has great potential. As for Julia, I'm sure you will see what I will do if you can return the cross to her. Soon, I think, you and I will not need to use it as a link, but be careful! Do not open your mind too far while you're on Maljardin. It is a place of rampant evil. Never forget that!"

"Alright," said Kathleen. "I'll try my best."

She found herself growing more and more tired by the minute, and soon, she had no choice but to lie down fully clothed on the bed. This would normally have bothered her, but tonight she was too full of doubt and fear to mind much. She was about to drift off to sleep when she noticed something above her on the window-sill. Getting out of bed and reaching above her, she found a strange little doll with a long metal pin through the area where its heart would be. The doll, she noticed, was wearing a carpenter's apron and had a very familiar face.

"Bill!" she said to herself. "He really was murdered!"

She replaced the frightening thing where it was on the sill and lifted the curtain to scan the ledge more closely. Just as she was about to give up, she found another doll nestled in the corner nearest the window. Taking it in her hand, she almost dropped it, for there confronting her was a woman with red hair and wearing a business suit. It was true that the face was nondescript, but the likeness could not be mistaken. She found another long pin lying next to the Kathleen doll, and the meaning of this could not have been made any plainer.

"I'm being warned," she said. "It's just like Vangie said that morning in my hotel room! I could end up just like Bill Temple!"