SCENE 8
The cell was cold and dank. A narrow shaft of light through the high, barred window was the only illumination she could see her visitor by. It was almost like looking in a mirror. Her thick French accent cut to her soul. "I told you once before how I seem to know you as I know myself. Well, now, though my head spins to imagine it, I wonder if you are myself - myself, in two hundred years."
Stunned, she replied, "I've wondered the same thing." It was too strange to contemplate. But many things that were too strange had already happened. "Is it possible?"
Her visitor shook her head. "I no longer know what that means any more. But I know this. Victoria, I must do everything in my power to free you from this horrible place."
A terrifying thought occurred to her. "But, Josette, the book. You must get out of here as Natalie says."
She drew herself up. "I do not care about the book. The book said I would perish on Widow's Hill, and I did not. And I will not go near that place again. Victoria, by saving you, I am saving myself. Don't you see? I will not leave Collinwood until you are free. That is the way it must be."
A noise awakened Vicki from her dream, and she sat up in her bed with a start. The room was dark. She held still for a moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the blackness. Soon, shapes began to appear: the posts of her bed, the outline of her wardrobe. As things became clearer, she thought she could make out a dark figure by her bookshelves.
A sharp thud made her jump. She let out a small scream and reached toward her bedside lamp. She flipped the switch, and the room was filled with light. Vicki quickly looked to where the figure had been, but no one was there. She breathed a sigh of relief. Then something else caught her attention. A sweet smell hung in the air like perfume - the scent of jasmine.
Throwing back her comforter, Vicki got out of bed and donned her robe. On the floor beneath the window, she saw a book lying open. It must have been that falling to the floor that caused the noise she heard. A perfectly simple explanation. She walked over and picked the book up off the floor.
Looking down, she recognized it. It was the volume of the Collins Family History she had taken with her to 1790. She frowned, for that should have been in the library downstairs. How did it get up in her room?
Victoria stood with the book in her hand. Her eyes widened as she saw the book was opened to a copy of Josette's portrait. Again, the scent of jasmine came to her. Glancing up, she said the name softly, "Josette?"
She caught a glimpse of movement outside her window. She went to the sill and looked out. Down on the lawn below stood a figure, dressed in white. Though a veil covered her face, Vicki recognized Josette. She was wearing the wedding dress she had died in.
The ghost gazed up at her with veiled eyes, then turned to walk away. She took a couple of steps, then turned back, looking at Vicki again.
The governess realized that the spirit wanted her to follow somewhere. Quickly, she put the book down on her bed and rushed out the door.
SCENE 9
Questions ran in Vicki's mind as she walked through the night. Why had Josette come back? What was she trying to tell her? And why had she led her here?
Vicki had thought to grab her coat before she left Collinwood, but the wind still chilled her to the bone. The barren trees and stark gravestones did nothing to help her feel warmer. When Josette had led her to Eagle Hill Cemetery, Vicki had expected her to head toward the area where the Collins' ancestors were buried. But to her surprise, they had been moving away from there for quite some time.
In the distance, Miss Winters saw the white figure gliding along the ground. She gasped as Josette went to a small building and disappeared into the wall. Vicki dashed forward so as not to lose her mysterious guide.
As she approached the building, Vicki saw that it was a mausoleum. Smaller and less ornate than the one built to house the remains of the Collins family, the name over the door was Stockbridge. She hesitated before walking down the two steps to the door. Vicki opened it with a squeal of hinges.
A musty smell hit her immediately, making it clear that no one living had been inside for a long time. From the small amount of light the open door let in, she could see a large candelabra just inside the entrance. Feeling the pockets of her coat, she reached in and found a book of matches. She struck one and lit a few of the candles.
The tapers threw light into the small chamber, flickering strange shadows across the walls. Vicki took a candle from its holder and walked to the center of the room. Plaques adorned the walls, listing the names of those whose remains were entombed here. But there was no sign of the spirit that had brought her to this place.
Vicki shook her head. "Josette," she said aloud, "why did you bring me here?" She waited, but no answer came.
Confused, Vicki was about to give up. She went to the door and took one last look into the mausoleum, then stopped. Something about one of the markers caught her eye. Holding up the candle, she moved to get a closer look. Her eyes widened in surprise as she read the plaque. She reached out to touch the carved letters to convince herself she wasn't mistaken. She wasn't. The plaque said, "Laura Murdoch Stockbridge, Born 1752. Died 1792. Died by fire."
Vicki remembered Sheriff Patterson had told her that Laura Collins' maiden name had been Murdoch. It seemed an odd coincidence to find one of her ancestors here, but she didn't understand what it meant.
More confused than ever, she blew out the candles and left the mausoleum. She wished she knew what was going on, but she had no idea. Her hair blew in the wind as she tried to figure it all out.
Suddenly, she spotted Josette's ghostly form in the distance, standing near a tall, misshapen tree. As quickly as she could, Vicki raced among the gravestones, trying to catch up with her.
Yet when she reached the tree, Josette was gone. Frustrated and out of breath, Vicki looked around wildly. So intent was she on scanning the area for the ghost, she almost tripped over a small gravestone. She glanced down as her foot hit it, and her breath caught in her throat. The stone read, "Laura Murdoch Radcliffe, Born 1852. Died 1892."
