#➤ elizabeth collins stoddard. ┊ I belong to the house. the house belongs to me. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shadowspellchecker · 5 years ago

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Dark Shadows 1966 Episode Revisions - Episode #0002

The woman gazes at Vicki sternly; the girl resists the urge to wilt under the glare. “I’m sorry for being so late—I had trouble getting a taxi. Are you Mrs. Stoddard?”

“I am," she affirms to Vicki's relief. "Do you have your letter?”

“Yes,” says Vicki, “It’s in my purse.”

“May I see it, please?” asks Mrs. Stoddard.

Vicky pulled the letter from the side pocket of her purse, where she had secured it on the train. “I’ve never been in such a big house,” she observes as the woman opens the letter. “How many rooms do you have?”

“Collinwood has well over forty rooms, but not all of them are in use,” says she, handing back the missive.

“It’s quite cold,” Vicki observes, putting the paper securely in her purse pocket.

The older woman’s gaze softens, and she says sympathetically, “I’ll put on some tea—would you like to wait in the drawing room?”

Vicki nods, and, thanking her, steps towards the doorway. Much to Vicki’s surprise, it is warmer even on her side of the massive doors. Pausing in the doorway, something occurs to her. “Forty rooms?”

Elizabeth nods. “Over forty.”

Vicki blinks, thinking about what the waitress—Maggie—had said. “You must need a lot of people to help you take care of this place.”

Elizabeth shakes her head, regarding her coolly. “I have one man for the heavy work, but we do the rest ourselves. You will be obligated to do the same, if you are to stay here.” She turns and heads through a door below the landing; Vicky also turns, drawn into the drawing room by the crackling heat. Still longingly admiring the large fireplace across the room, her attention is immediately diverted by the details of the room. The odd assortment objects on the tables, bookcases, and piano; the draperies; the portraits—of which, none of the subjects indicated a sitting any time in the last century…she paused. Of course those caught her eye, as any indication of such long family histories do—it always seemed so incredible, so miraculous, that anyone could be able to tell people of their parent’s grandparents, or their great-great grandparents, or… For a girl who had grown up in a foundling home, not even knowing her parents’ names, it would always seem inexplicable as to how she could ever be able to know even her parents, and yet here was a family who not only knew their parents, but could trace their whole ancestry! She almost felt jealous—but she couldn’t help but wonder if they knew just how lucky they were.

There was a bang, and she followed the sound to its source—a tree branch against the huge bay windows. Captivated, she stared out the window, hand resting on the cool pane; after a moment, she opened the glass and leaned on the casing, thoughts falling silent as she listened to the wind and the waves crashing below.

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Five minutes later, the mistress of the household, returning laden with a tea tray, found Vicki staring at the portrait over the mantel. “Jeremiah Collins, my great-great-great grandfather on my mother's side, built Collinwood,” Liz said, startling the girl. “He was a very strong man; how often I’ve wished that…" She trailed off. "How do you like your tea, lemon or cream?”

“Lemon would be fine, thank you,” answered Vicki, conscientious of the change in subject. “I think it’s wonderful you can manage this house with only one person.”

“It’s hardly the whole house, anymore,” Elizabeth said wryly. “The East Wing was closed over fifty years ago, and we only use part of the West—one lump or two?”

“One,” Vicki answers. “Are you expecting someone else?”

“I asked my brother Roger to come down to meet you,” says Liz, handing Vicki the tea, “As you are to care for his son and tutor him.”

“What kind of a boy is he?” asks Vicki.

Elizabeth hesitated, then said cryptically, “You’ll meet him in the morning."

“I know,” said Vicki, still on the question. “I meant to say, is he friendly, is he inquisitive? Does he like to play games? I know when I was nine, I…”

“Miss Winters, David is likely to be different from any boy you've ever met,” Elizabeth interrupts, but does not elaborate; she hears footsteps in the foyer. “Oh, Roger, we’re in the drawing room,” she calls. “Roger, I said…” Much to her dismay, he had already left through the front door. Continuing where she left off, “We don't have many visitors here, but you'll have your day off and several nights a week.”

“I hadn't even thought about that yet,” says Vicki.

“And there's my daughter, Carolyn,” says Liz. “You’re about the same age—I’m sure you’ll get along very well; she’s a lovely girl.”

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Meanwhile, Carolyn Stoddard is dancing at the Blue Whale, to the cheers and encouragement of the largely male clientele. Her current boyfriend, Joe Haskell, shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "I think that will be the last one for us, Bob," he says as the barkeep passes.

Mr. Rooney looks over at the young Collins, and nods. "Get her home safe, Joe."

Although still at their discussion, Burke Devlin and Strake have relocated to the bar, away from the noisy entrance and dance area. The smaller man gestures at the dancing blonde, and says, "Yup, that's her. Carolyn Stoddard." He pushes a folder at Devlin. "It's all in the report."

Burke smirks. "I'm looking forward to reading it, Strake."

"You better—" Burke gestures at him to hush. Strake turns around.

Carolyn has found her way back to Joe's table, but Carolyn's previous dance partner had approached the couple. From their position, the two men could hear their conversation.

"—wanna dance?"

"Why not?" She gets up.

"Because maybe I've barely seen you tonight?"

"Oh, come on, Joe, just because you aren't going to doesn't mean I can't—"

"I think you've had enough, Carolyn."

"Go back to your beer, sailor boy," the dancer from the floor scoffed. "Girl can make her own decisions."

"You're making an idiot out of yourself, Caro."

At this point, a scuffle breaks out between the two young men. Carolyn, suddenly sobering up a bit, intervenes. "Joe, cut it out," she says. "I'll have this dance, then we'll go." Joe meets her eyes, and lets go of the other man's jacket.

"I'm ready for ya' anytime," his opponent jibes.

Carolyn swats his shoulder. "Don't go ticking people off, Johnson," she warns. "One dance," she assures Joe.

"One dance," he concedes, and sits down with his beer.

Burke and Strake share a glance. "Full rundown on page twenty,” comments Strake. “Joe Haskell—Mama’s choice for little Carolyn—oh, I wish my wife could wiggle like that!”

"Maybe if you were thirty years younger," Burke says dryly.

On the dance floor, Carolyn's dance partner had been replaced with a redhead, who had apparently decided that "hopping" was an acceptable alternative to knowing proper steps. Another guy cuts in, to Carolyn's surprise, and starts dancing with the replacement. Joe takes the opportunity to cut in. "I think it's time we leave," he says.

"No, wait Joe. Just one more."

"That was one more, Carolyn. I think we ought to go now,” Joe retorts.

"Hey! Dancers only!" interjects Carolyn's new dance partner. Joe elbows the guy in the gut, and his friend tackles Joe from behind.

Amid drunken cheers, Burke stands up to see the events, dodging Rooney who was making a beeline for the phone. Strake sighs. "Better go break it up, Burke."

Burke cuts in, separating the two men and glaring at the third to stay back. The recipient of the glare sits down.

"Go home, Collins," Burke orders Carolyn. "Now."

Offended at the label, Carolyn stubbornly holds her ground. "And you are?"

"A friend of the family. Now get her home, Haskell, before the cops get here," he says, pushing Joe in her direction.

Carolyn is not having any of it. "And what gives you the right to—"

Burke interrupts. "Dammit, girl, go with your boy before I take you over my knee and paddle you right here!" Joe hands a furious Carolyn her purse and coat. "And you, boy, get back here after you get Miss Collins back where she belongs. I want to talk to you."

Joe doesn't say anything, occupied with ushering Carolyn out of the building.

Back at the bar, Strake takes a sip of beer. "Fight's over?"

Burke smirks. "Just beginning," he says, "just beginning."

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Liz leads Vicki to her room. It has a large canopied bed. Liz closes the window. “The catch doesn't hold very well, I’m afraid,” she warns; “You’ll have to be careful—but I hope you’ll be comfortable.”

“It’s very nice,” Vicki assures her.

A nostalgic look develops on the Collins matriarch’s face. “I slept on that bed every night until…” Liz trails off for a moment, “…until I married.”

“All we had in the orphanage were cots, plain iron cots,” says Vicki. “I could sleep on anything.”

Liz scrutinizes her, but does not question further. “Hm. I’m sure you’ll have ample drawer space,” she says instead, opening the drawers in the dresser.

“Thank you. May I ask a question?” Vicki asks Liz tentatively.

“Certainly.”

“Why did you offer me the position? You…”

“No, I have never seen you before. Does it matter?” asks Liz.

“I’d like to know,” says Vicki.

“Simple enough,” says Liz. “One of the nurses at the sanitarium used to volunteer as a social worker at the foundling home while getting her degree. My brother asked for a recommendation.”

“But I asked—they said they'd never heard of you,” says Vicki.

“You must have asked the wrong person,” Liz reasons.

A door slams from below. “Excuse me,” Elizabeth says, getting up and flowing out of the room. Left alone, Vicki closes the door and sits down on her bed, disappointed.

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Downstairs, Carolyn passes through the foyer to the drawing room. She crosses her arms, and glares at the portrait over the mantle. "Hey big shot!" The portrait stares blankly back, and she sighs, defeated. "Who told you to build this prison anyway?"

"Carolyn?" Elizabeth interrupts, standing at the double doors to the parlor. "I didn't expect you home so early."

Carolyn shrugs. "Neither did I." She does not turn away from the portrait.

Elizabeth walks over and puts a hand on her shoulder. "What happened, darling, is something wrong?"

"Nothing," comes the standard teenage response. Elizabeth gives her daughter a dry look. Carolyn sighs. "...Why is it impossible for me to enjoy myself?"

Liz winces. "I'll make you some tea."

"Oh, please don't. I'd rather just go to bed."

"Are you certain nothing is wrong?"

Carolyn breaks. "Oh, Mother, I'm so tired of trying." After that, it does not take Liz long to get her daughter to relate the events of the evening.

They end up sitting down by the fire. "That sounds horrible," Liz sympathizes. "I can't understand Joe Haskell."

"It wasn't his fault, though."

Liz nods, distracted. "You don't know how much I worry about you sometimes."

"I know," Carolyn says. "But let's face it, you love this house. And that's just grand for you...But every chance I find to walk away from here and find a little brightness...how can you ask me to give that up?"

"There are other ways," Liz notes. "You had one."

Carolyn grins. "I don't regret giving up my place, Mother. You know that poor Lou can't risk the draft, not with that father of his around."

"I am proud of you, Carolyn. You did that family a great kindness."

"Still, it doesn't make it easier sometimes," Carolyn breathes. "When I was ten years old I used to dream that a white knight would come along and rescue me from this dungeon. I guess white knights have gone out of style."

"I thought you liked Joe Haskell," comments Liz. "All I ever pray for is for you to be happy… Joe loves you."

"And I like him," says Carolyn, "but he's not a white knight, Mother."

"We can't always get everything we want," says Liz.

"I'm going to try," says Carolyn. "Please, stop trying to marry me off, ok?" She changes tack. "Besides, how do you expect me to go away and leave you alone in this beautiful nuthouse?" She gestures to all that's around them.

"I won't be," assures Elizabeth. "Not anymore." Carolyn's eyes open wide.

"You mean she actually came?" asks Carolyn excitedly.

"A few minutes ago, says Liz. "She's a nice girl, you'll like her very much."

But Carolyn is laughing, running up the stairs. "She must be out of her mind!" Liz shakes her head, and smiles.

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Vicki descends the stairs, still in her coat, and listens at the drawing room doors. She gazes at the portrait above the table in the foyer. Boo! She tells it. She follows the hall opposite the stairs, and enters some kind of room with french doors on the right. She goes outside, and hears the roar of the ocean. She walks down some steps, finally stopping at the edge of the terrace, where she gazes out at the sea.

Roger Collins approaches from behind. "Not planning to jump, are you?? he asks, smiling --"You wouldn't be the first, you know.

"You're Roger Collins," Vicki identifies.

Roger nods. "Yes, I admit it. I am Elizabeth's brother, David's father. Terribly sorry if I startled you."

Vicki shrugs. "I am getting used to surprises, I think."

Roger chuckles. "Good idea, around here. We're quite a strange crew," he explains. "But, I think you'll find most of us rather nice. Though…it is quite different from New York, isn't it?" He waves his hand out over the vista, as though designating what "it" was. "I hope you won't be too lonely here."

"If I am, I'll blame it on you, Vicki quips.

"Me?" Roger asks, thrown.

Victoria, oblivious to Roger's confusion, just nods. "Mrs. Stoddard said you were the one that arranged for me to come here."

"Hmm, you don't say?" he muses, fitting pieces together.

Vicki picks up on his tension. "It is true, isn't it?" she checks.

"If Elizabeth says so," Roger remarks snidely, "then it must be true." He looks back out over the rock. "Did you know that on a cloudless day you can see twenty miles out to sea? When I was a boy I used to bring a picnic lunch out here and dream for hours."

Victoria hums pensively. "Maybe I can do the same with your son," she decides.

Roger looks doubtful. "With David?"

Vicki looks at him askance. "Doesn't he like picnics?"

Roger shrugs, resigned. "I'm not exactly certain what he does like anymore, Miss Winters. But if you intend to follow that plan, do yourself a favor. Stay away from the edge."

Vicki chuckles. "Really, Mr. Collins."

"Roger, please," he waves her off; "Mr. Collins still sounds too much like my father. You'd better head in. Shouldn't let the brightest thing in this house catching cold the first day."

"I'm stronger than I look," she assures him. She points out to sea. "What are those lights?"

"Probably a freighter on its way to Europe," guesses Roger.

"Funny, they go all those thousands of miles, and I couldn't get here from the railroad station," Vicki muses.

"I should have come down to meet you in the car," Roger apologizes. "I was thoughtless."

"I was lucky," she says. "A man got off the train with me and got a taxi for me. He said he knew you… Devlin, I think his name was."

Roger suddenly grabs her in a painful grip. "What did you say?"

Vicki yelps, and tries to twist out of his hold. "Mr. Collins, please!"

"Did you say Devlin?" he demands. "Burke Devlin?"

"Yes," she says.

"Are you sure?" he insists, shaking her.

"Of course I'm sure!" He drops her and runs back to the house.

Vicki rubs her sore arms and stares after him. She looks down at the rocks. "What was that about?" she mutters to the uncaring waves.

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Unwilling to run into Roger again, Vicki uses the kitchen door to enter the house. As she passes through the foyer, she hears muffled sobbing from the drawing room. She cracks a door open, and peeks in. At the piano sits Mrs. Stoddard, the only person in the room. Carefully, she shuts the door and sneaks upstairs to her room.

#dark shadows (1966)#episode revision #i had to build collinwood in sketchup to revise this episode.

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