Dark Splendor

by Parnell, Andrea

  Silvia breathed a sigh of relief. The craggy facade was a welcome sight, though it looked as if it did not belong in the near-tropical setting. Nor did it appear inviting.

  She paused and lifted her eyes to follow the lines of a single tower that rose high above the treetops on the right side. The main body of the castle swept to her left with walls half as high as the spiraling tower. The irregular angles of the roof were of the same gray color. A massive wall continued beyond the structure itself, and to Silvia the building looked like a stone island set in a sea of trees.

  In the hazy light of dusk she could make out the turreted walkway at the top of the tower. Briefly she thought she saw a small flame, as if from a candle, a sparse glow of light in a high tower window. But it was gone so quickly there was no way to be sure.

  Like a lumbering giant, Odin climbed the wide stone steps that led to an arched doorway. On either side, torches hung from chains and lit the entry, their billowing flames creating a warm light. Thunderously Odin dropped her bag in front of the heavy paneled door and with his enormous hand lifted a large iron ring. She heard the metallic knocking as he forcefully rapped it three times against the iron plate underneath.

  “Wait here,” he said flatly, and with that descended the steps and disappeared into the darkness.

  Silvia watched him walk away. When he was out of sight, she turned to the door. A sense of uneasiness tightened the skin at the back of her neck. An innate apprehension of the serpent in the carving on the wooden door panel invaded her thoughts. The serpent figure was nearly as tall as she was, with an evil-looking head as large as her own. A forked tongue flashed from the open mouth, and its body wrapped ominously about the trunk of a tree. The design was the same as that of Mr. Schlange’s seal on her bond paper, but somehow, in the gloomy flickering light of the torches, it was far more frightening. It seemed to stare directly at Silvia, and she sensed the pressure of its coiling body.

  The door swung open, soundlessly it seemed, leaving Silvia face to face with a tall, thin woman whose currant, black eyes held a spark of some undefinable emotion.

  “Miss Bradstreet, we’ve been expecting you. Come in.” The woman made a slight gesture with her right hand. “Don’t bother about the bag. I’ll have it sent up to your rooms.” Her words gushed out without inflection. She had a husky voice, and though she tried to mask it, the tone held a hint of cynicism.

  “Thank you,” Silvia responded weakly as she entered and stepped aside for the woman to shut the door. Her eyes swept the enormous foyer and she took a quick breath of astonishment. The interior of Serpent Tree Hall was not the dark, drab place she had expected. Nor was it at all like any castle she had heard described.

  The floor in the entry hall was of polished pink marble and at the far end double staircases of the same gleaming stone curved up like giant wings. At the next level, the staircases joined and formed a spacious landing bordered with the ornate gilt railings that also ran the length of the stairs. On each side of the staircases arched doorways led to wide halls which appeared to run deeply into the building.

  A cry of admiration came from Silvia’s lips. She had never dreamed of such elegance. Suspended from the wall on each side of the foyer were large gilt-and-crystal candelabra. They were formed of golden snakes, heads carved to hold the candles and tails twisted together against the leafy design of the base which fastened to the walls.

  Silvia stared questioningly at the woman who had shown her in. She could not imagine that any place in Europe could be more beautiful.

  A slight, brief smile formed on the other woman’s thin lips. A look of satisfaction gleamed faintly in her narrowed eyes as if she were pleased with Silvia’s reaction. A rustle sounded from her taffeta skirts as she moved to stand in front of Silvia.

  “I am Vivien,” she said. Her eyes were little black lights set deeply in her face. “Mr. Schlange instructed me to take you upstairs where you can rest and get settled.” She started to move away but added briskly, “Mr. Schlange apologizes but he is ill and cannot greet you himself.”

  Silvia lifted her brows sharply and turned her attention to Vivien at that pronouncement.

  “I trust his illness is not serious,” she stated, the concern showing in her eyes as they met Vivien’s.

  Now that they were near the stairs and in the full flood of light, Silvia noted the pale contrast of Vivien’s skin with the darkness of her hair. She wore it tight against her scalp and fashioned into a ball neatly covered with a black mesh at the back of her head. Her simply styled dress was of a green color so dark as to be almost black. With it she wore a crimson rope, a sort of belt, around her waist, and from the jangle when she walked, Silvia thought it must hold a number of keys which were hidden in her pocket.

  “Mr. Schlange is old and tires easily,” Vivien responded as they stood at the foot of the stairs. She paused. “And all must wait until he is strong again.”

  Silvia waited, expecting Vivien to explain what all must wait for, but was disappointed when instead the woman spun around and began to climb the stairs. Silvia quickly followed, her mind filled with unanswered questions. Who was Vivien and what was her position? Perhaps she should ask, she thought reflectively.

  She had climbed only three or four steps when she caught a glimpse of someone in a room that opened off the foyer. His back was to her, but instantly she knew the sweep of his broad shoulders, the aloofness of his carriage. Roman Toller.

  Her body stiffened in shock, but not before a sound of surprise escaped her lips.

  “You!” she cried out.

  He spun around at the sound of her voice. For a moment they stared blatantly at each other, until, to her dismay, she felt his glare was burning through her flesh and setting her blood aflame.

  Morgan Toller appeared at his side and nodded politely. Silvia barely noticed him. She could not break away from Roman’s piercing blue eyes, which seemed to drink her up until she felt she would be consumed like a glass of wine.

  Jauntily he tilted his head to one side and slowly raised an eyebrow. Silvia grabbed at the rail, her hand lingering a moment too long in the air before she found it and turned away. She looked up to see Vivien, like a black-swathed Harpy, watching her curiously from the landing.

  “Come along,” Vivien’s husky voice called impatiently.

  Disconcerted, Silvia caught up her skirts and hurried up the stairs at a dangerous pace. She arrived at the landing breathless, her senses dizzied. She was shaken by the run of emotions sweeping her mind and by the fact that Roman Toller was at Serpent Tree Hall. Her brows drew together in an agonized expression. She could not deny she was as much thrilled as perplexed to see him again.

  Vivien gave her no time for introspection but quickly led her to a door halfway down the long hall. Here the walls were of the same gray stone as the exterior of the castle. A short distance away another hall joined the one in which they stood. The rooms were laid out so that it was possible to go in either direction from the staircase and still reach each room. Dozens of candles set in sconces attached to the walls lit the long passageways.

  Vivien removed a set of keys from her pocket, and finding the one to fit the door, inserted it in the lock. When the door was open, she took a taper from the hall and led the way inside. Shortly she had lit several candles around the room.

  The soft candlelight spilled warm light over the interior. Silvia’s eyebrows rose in amazement and her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the dark splendor and beauty. It was no less impressive than the marble foyer. Stunned, she spun about, taking it all in, until slowly it dawned on her that Vivien was speaking.

  “It is the Emerald Suite, Mr. Schlange’s favorite. He had it made ready for you weeks ago.”

  Still the room held her interest much more than what Vivien was saying. The spacious sitting room was done entirely in rich green. It gave her the strange feeling of being underwater. The furnishings, a settee and several chairs, were covered with a silk brocade. A smal
l gilt table and a desk sat at one side. On the walls were Chinese scrolls delicately painted in a lovely Oriental design.

  Vivien opened double doors that led to a huge bedroom where the walls were hung with green velvet fabric intricately embroidered with gold thread. A canopied bed draped with velvet curtains of the same fabric was covered with a silk spread of a paler shade. The dressing table had an enameled dresser set and lovely crystal bottles filled with perfumes. Silvia touched them all, lifting the glass tops and filling the room with the wonderful scents. Across the room rested an armoire fully six feet wide and painted with delicate yellow flowers.

  Opening still another door, Vivien showed Silvia a small dressing room which contained a foot tub and toiletries.

  “It’s beautiful, as beautiful as anything I’ve ever seen,” Silvia whispered, her hands outspread in disbelief as she tried to comprehend. “But there must be a mistake. This can’t be for me, a bond servant.”

  Vivien faced her again, her bony jaw stiff. “Mr. Schlange makes no mistakes. He ordered these rooms prepared for you, Miss Bradstreet.” Her reply held a trace of sharpness. With a swishing of her skirts, she crossed the bedroom to the wide windows at one side and drew back the curtains a bit. “In the morning you will be able to see the courtyard and the gardens.” She opened the windows and a crisp breeze floated through the room.

  “You are surely tired from your journey. I’ll have the maid bring water for a bath and then your dinner on a tray.”

  “I’ll need my bag.” Silvia said weakly, still unable to comprehend that the rooms were for her.

  “Have you any personal items other than clothing in the bag?” Vivien inquired, standing straight and still in front of the windows.

  “My papers and some coins,” Silvia replied, puzzled.

  “They will be returned to you. Mr. Schlange asks that you wear the clothes he has provided. I will have your bag stored downstairs.” She swept across the floor to the armoire and unfastened the brass latch.

  “Of course,” Silvia replied weakly, wondering if Mr. Schlange would want her to wear a uniform. If so she trusted the garments would be better suited to the climate than her own.

  Vivien swung open both doors of the armoire to expose dozens of gowns hanging inside. Blue ones, pink ones, lavender and patterned ones, all of silk and linen and fine cotton. The gaunt woman lifted out several at once and held them for Silvia to see.

  A small cry escaped her lips as her mouth dropped open.

  The first gown Vivien presented was of light blue watered silk trimmed with narrow bands of delicate lace and silver buttons on the bodice. But as Vivien pulled out more gowns, it seemed each was more beautiful than the one before.

  “Mr. Schlange was not certain of the size, but they will be fitted for you.” Vivien’s dark eyes were expressionless again, yet there was nothing servile about her and again Silvia questioned the woman’s position in the household. “The shoes, he bought in several sizes,” Vivien added flatly, pointing to the floor of the armoire, where numerous pairs of slippers rested. “There should be some that will fit.”

  Silvia’s eyes were wide in astonishment and her lower lip trembled uncontrollably. Her mind was reeling like a spinning top. Mystified at all being offered to her, she was convinced Vivien had made a mistake.

  “Vivien,” Silvia said, trying to control the quiver in her voice. “Surely you expected someone else. I am Silvia Bradstreet, a bond servant.”

  Vivien lifted her thin black brows. “There is no mistake. You are the one expected.” She spoke as if Silvia were a thing rather than a person, and her icy tone confused Silvia. Vivien moved like a shadow across the floor. “The rooms are for you, as are the gowns and all other things in this suite. Use them. Wear them. It is what Mr. Schlange wishes.”

  “But what am I to do? What does he want from me?” Silvia’s knees felt weak and she knew she needed to sit down. What manner of man was Mr. Schlange?

  “Use what has been provided, Miss Bradstreet. That will make Mr. Schlange happy.” Vivien opened a drawer of the dressing table. “You will find your nightclothes here.” She returned to the armoire and withdrew a scarlet silk dressing gown and the blue silk dress. The dressing gown she laid on the bed. “Anna will prepare your bath and bring your dinner when you have bathed and dressed.” Turning, Vivien pulled a tasseled rope and drew aside one of the velvet wall hangings. Behind it was a door which led to the hall. “Tomorrow at breakfast you will meet the others,” she said. “Good night, Miss Bradstreet.”

  The others? Silvia sank weakly onto the silken cushions of a lounge chair beside the dressing table. Of course there would be others. Wilhelm Schlange would not live alone in such a large and elegant place. But who were the others? Roman Toller was obviously one of them. Looking at the thin scarlet dressing gown, Silvia realized Wilhelm Schlange had a most definite purpose for her. But was it the same purpose she had envisioned when seeking escape from her drunken Uncle Hollister?

  Chapter 3

  It was only after Silvia had locked the bedroom door when Anna took her dinner tray away that she felt free to explore the suite completely. The dressing room had a light green wallpaper with a leaf design and stacks of snowy linen towels all embroidered with an S. The letter was actually a serpent looped in an S shape. While Anna attended her she had asked a hundred questions but the only one she had received a straight answer about was the monogram.

  A plump middle-aged woman with round, rosy cheeks, Anna looked as if she were the sort who babbled incessantly. But tonight she had been far from talkative and seemed almost to bite her tongue to stay mum at Silvia’s questioning. However, the subject of snakes seemed to be a matter she could not keep quiet about.

  “It’s ‘is name, you know. Schlange’s the German word but it’s serpent in the King’s English. Snakes, I call ‘em.” Anna had rolled her round eyes and paused as she poured another bucket of hot water in the bathtub. “They’re all over the house, on the linens, in the candlesticks. ‘E’s even got ‘em on the door handles. There’s one on the weather vane over the kitchen and everywhere else you can think.” She shook her round little head in dismay. “Sometimes it seems the whole bloomin’ house is crawling with snakes.” Anna set the bucket down and clutched the carved wooden crucifix she wore on a cord around her neck. “Evil creatures, they are.”

  Anna’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling when she mentioned the snakes, and as she talked, her cheeks grew redder. The woman was a head shorter than Silvia and nearly as round as she was tall. Her hair, hardly visible beneath her starched white cap, appeared to be a light brown. The fact that she wore a cap and a starched white apron over her plain gray dress led Silvia to more speculation about the elegant wardrobe Vivien had insisted was for her. If the servants wore simple uniforms, then it made no sense at all that she should have those lovely gowns.

  A long sigh escaped from her lips as she stepped into the bath. The minute she felt the soothing warmth on her tired limbs, she forgot all her concerns. She thought of nothing beyond the fragrant caress of the water washing away salt spray that had seemed to stick to her skin since the ship left London. A bath had become a forgotten luxury and one she had missed. For nearly an hour she soaked peacefully while Anna kept her supplied with hot, steaming water.

  It had been divine, soap scented with lavender and sweet oils and perfumes to use when she had dried herself. Anna had treated her like royalty though she had been disinclined to answer any questions about Mr. Schlange.

  And when she was gone, Silvia found a silk nightgown more beautiful than any dress she had ever owned. She slipped the gown over her head, feeling the gossamer fabric caress her skin as it cascaded over her body. The sheer white fabric shimmered against her like silken threads spun by a spider. Tiny scarlet rosebuds made of satin embellished the bodice and a scarlet ribbon tied in front, gathering the neckline in soft folds over her shoulders.

  Silvia smiled languorously and spun around in front of a tall mirror with a
n ornate mahogany frame inlaid with ivory-and-silver cherubs.

  The girl she saw looked more like a princess than a servant, and in spite of her reservations her smile widened as a look of delight lit her face. Swinging the flared skirt of her gown, she danced into the sitting room, trying out each chair. She opened drawers of the desk and found them empty except for ink and quills and a supply of paper. Her fingers touched each piece of furniture, the tapestries and wall hangings, and then she curled up in an armchair to study the painted panels of the ceiling.

  Each misty painting was a scene of lovers done in the pale colors of a dream, each one covering a quarter of the ceiling. Lovers walking in a garden, together on horseback, in a swing. The fourth panel showed them in an embrace reclining on the feathery puffs of a cloud. Silvia felt a tightening in her throat, the warmth of tears welling in her eyes. She could almost feel the happiness of the pair. Sighing, she made a deliberate movement to force her eyes away. Thoughts of love had no place in her mind.

  Still the elegance of the surroundings made her feel warm and special. She felt tired too, tired enough to sleep for a week. Already her eyelids were growing heavy and her body was telling of the exhaustion from the excitement of the day. She yawned and rose slowly from the chair. Silvia crossed the thick carpet pausing in response to a faint apprehension to make sure the doors were locked.

  Anna had turned back the covers while Silvia bathed, and now the large bed with its velvet draperies and silk curtains looked incredibly comfortable and inviting. Silvia hurriedly closed the windows and snuffed out candles around the room one by one.

  Little puffs of smoke drifted into the air above each charred wick and faded slowly from sight to become part of the blackness. A portion of the room seemed to disappear as each candle was extinguished. But only when she had blown out the last candle, the one in a silver candlestick on the bedside table, would she believe she was not in a fairy tale. For in the darkness there was only the luxurious feel of the silk sheets to remind her she was in a suite as spacious as the whole of the house she had shared with her uncle in London.