“You’re so like your mother, darling, sweet and trusting, with never a thought of danger.” Vivien cooed and pulled the covers up beneath his chin. “Never believing anyone would harm you.” Easing off the bed, she seated herself in a wooden rocker a few feet away. “But don’t you worry, my darling boy, Vivy will take care of you and see that nothing hurts you.” She smiled softly as dark-lashed eyelids closed and the soft, slow breathing of sleep sounded rhythmically in the room. “Vivy loves you, always remember,” she whispered to the sleeping form.
Vivien looked around the room where she spent much of her time. The rag doll she had made for him rested beside his face on the pillow. Across the room, just catching the flickering light of the bedside candle, was a set of wooden blocks stacked and laid out to resemble the painting of Serpent Tree Hall above the play area. He had made little trees of twigs and even draped them with bits of moss and set them up around the castle the way they looked from his barred window.
Beside the toy castle stood clay figures he had shaped like horses and a figure of each person he had seen crossing the garden below. Vivien lifted the candle from the table and quietly crossed the room. She knelt beside the block structure and set the candle beside her. He was artistic, his talent undeniable, she thought, lifting the little figure she knew was herself. Sniffing, she wiped at a tear and set the figure back in place. He had fashioned a smile on her face. She was about to rise and leave the room when her hand touched a gritty substance.
Puzzled, Vivien moved the candle so she could see where her hand rested. On the floor, one clay figure had been smashed to bits. Wondering what would make him treat his little treasures so roughly, she lifted it up and held it close to the candle. At the sight of it, a frown furrowed her brow and she gasped lightly. The figure was of his father.
Without hesitating, Vivien replaced the broken figure where she had found it, and taking the candle, went hurriedly through the connecting door to her own room. She had been there only a moment when a brittle ringing shook the heavy air.
So he had been awake and had heard the voices in the hall. And now he would be wanting to know if he had reason to celebrate. Not this night, she thought ruefully, hurrying along the corridor on her spindly legs. But soon, perhaps. The girl was a brilliant find. Perfect. And already raising temperatures in the house.
Halting, she knocked lightly at a doorway on the back hall.
“Come in,” uttered a weak voice she remembered once having held the strength of steel.
Vivien entered a room lit brightly by half a dozen candles. She said not a word but went directly to where Wilhelm Schlange sat propped against the pillows in his four-poster bed. Her eyes moved steadily over him. He had been a handsome man once, though there was little about him now to prove it. The old man had been ill and weak since his return from England a few weeks earlier, and had taken to his bed until his strength returned. Her eyes widening a trifle, Vivien saw that his thin, ashen skin had gained some healthy color and that his eyes were eager and questioning.
“Yes?” he asked anxiously when she had stood there some moments waiting silently.
“No.” Vivien lifted her brows, making her long face seem narrower and even more drawn.
Disappointment showed in his face. But I was right about the girl?”
“Yes, you were right. It has begun.”
His eyes sparkled with a dangerous new energy. “Which one?”
“Tonight it was Roman.”
“Roman. Good. He has the most spirit.” A satisfied smile softened his face. “Does the girl suspect?”
“She was full of questions, but I cautioned the staff to keep mum.”
“What of the others?”
“They know nothing, but I daresay there will be questions tomorrow.”
“Let them wonder,” he said smugly, pursing his thin lips and leaning heavily into the pillows. “My illness may prove to be a help.” He smiled and his eyes caught the yellow reflection of the candle flame. “A few days of waiting before the announcement may hasten things along.” A gasp sounded from his throat and he broke suddenly into a fit of wheezing coughs. When the coughing subsided his thin body was left trembling. “And you, Vivien, do you still think it is madness?” he whispered weakly as his breath returned. “Or do you see now there is no other way?”
Her black eyes met his. “I will do as you ask.” Vivien’s narrow face was shadowed on one side and lit by the dancing light of the candles on the other. It gave her an eerie, unnatural appearance as she stood like a post at the foot of his bed, not moving, not even seeming to blink an eye. “That is all that matters,” she said coldly. “I will do it for him.”
A tremor shook Schlange and he grabbed for his chest. “Swear it, Vivien.” His hand jerked spasmodically and caught in the folds of the blanket like a bony claw. “Swear you will see it carried out.” A moment later his hand relaxed and the blanket slid from his grasp. “No,” he said. “No. I’ll not leave it to you. I’ll not die until I’ve seen it done.”
Chapter 4
“So you had a visitor last night?”
Morgan Toller entered the dining room a few steps behind his brother, his walk brisk and his smile jolly. Sauntering to a place at one side of the long oval table, he seated himself directly across from Roman.
Morning air, fresh, vibrant, and pleasantly cool, filled the dining room with the promise of a beautiful day. Outside, the golden sphere of the sun had reared its head over the castle walls and was casting playful patterns of shadow and light through the wide windows. Morgan’s jocular face beamed an equal share of brightness in the room.
“It seems your charm has not failed you, as I feared.” Periwinkle eyes sparkled with mischievous merriment. With a sweep of his hand Morgan lifted a cover from a dish of eggs and sausages. As he did, a burst of savory steam escaped to fill his nostrils with the appetizing aroma. Sniffing appreciatively, he picked up a small sausage but paused thoughtfully before lifting the delicacy to his lips. For a moment he studied Roman quietly. “You can’t imagine the worry you caused me, thinking I might have to single-handedly uphold the Toller reputation with the fair sex.”
“What the devil are you prattling about, Morgan?” Roman snarled, and furrowed his brow in a frown. “And put that lid down.” His lips thinned in irritation. “We’re to have breakfast with Eric and Martha. The least you could do is pretend to have the manners of a gentleman.”
“Ahh.” Morgan seemed delightfully pleased with himself. “Was that the manner of a gentleman I observed last night? A gentlemanly seduction. Though for the life of me I could not tell who was seducing whom.” Morgan popped the sausage into his mouth and chewed slowly, his eyes twinkling with greater merriment. “And why you should want to make a spectacle of yourself and the lady is beyond reasoning.” Morgan sighed. “Or perhaps jealousy was your purpose.” He flipped a napkin from a basket and lifted out a warm crusty roll and broke it in half. Grinning magnanimously, Morgan spread a dollop of butter over the surface and went on talking, his eyes intent on the task before him. “Well, you succeeded. I’m giving you notice I intend to woo Miss Bradstreet away from you.” Glancing up negligently, he took a large bite of the roll. “Hungry?”
“Bloody hell, Morgan.” Roman said violently, and rose ponderously from his chair. “Nobody invited you to spy on a private matter.” Stomping around the table, he nearly collided with a disconcerted maid who approached bearing a steaming pot of tea. Roman snarled, giving the hapless woman a start, but she managed to sidestep quickly and avoid a disastrous collision. The poor woman, shaken by his display of temper, quickly deposited the teapot on a trivet and left the room. Roman glared at his brother, but Morgan ignored him and continued eating the roll. “You plague me from dawn to dark like fleas on a hound. Give a man room to breathe, by God!”
Morgan chuckled.
Roman, his temper worsening, stopped by the French doors at the end of the dining room and cursed under his breath. The garden sunlight len
t an iridescent glow to lingering dewdrops on the green leaves of a low hedge. Birds hopped amid the spidery pink blossoms in a mimosa tree, chirping sweetly to welcome the morning sun.
Taking full advantage of the warm rays, a sleek black cat lazily licked its paws and rubbed them slowly across its ears. The birds paid no heed to their adversary as he groomed his fur until it glistened. Roman watched. The creature’s coat was black as coal, black as the silky curls he’d tangled his fingers in last night.
His mind burned with the memory and he turned away abruptly to stare into Morgan’s grinning face. An irritable frown curved Roman’s lips.
“A woman like that needs a man who can appreciate her finer qualities,” Morgan commented, shaking his head decisively. “Not a heartless bloke like you.”
Roman gritted his teeth and turned his back to Morgan again. “Do what you like. The girl means nothing to me,” he said flatly.
The cat outside responded to his motion at the window and lazily opened yellow-gold eyes. Roman watched the creature, the way it stretched with easy grace, the way the sun burnished its black coat. A dull ache of desire tightened the muscles in his chest and he felt a throbbing in his temples. He remembered tawny eyes and tousled black curls catching the moonlight.
Angrily his nostrils flared as he stared past the cat. Roman wiped his brow, wondering why he felt the heat so early in the morning.
“Roman...” A melodious voice floated across the room and the fragrance of lilacs filled the air. He heard the rustle of silk skirts and the soft pattering of leather slippers.
Smiling, he turned as a young woman with a beautifully wrought delicate face and pale gold hair she wore in a braid wrapped around her head like a crown entered the room. Her light blue eyes were filled with eagerness, and an excited blush colored her cheeks. She carried herself regally, holding her skirts up a little as she hastened across the polished wood floor toward Roman.
“Martha, darling.” His voice was velvet-edged and warm as he caught her around the waist, lifting her feet from the floor, spinning a circle with her in his arms. “Let me look.” Setting her to her feet, he stepped back but quickly caught her again and tightened his arms in a hug. “You’re like a confection, a sweet, sugary confection.”
“Roman, Roman.” Joy bubbled in her laughter and delight shone in her eyes. “It’s good to have you home.” Her face sparkled with laughter but soon stilled and turned suddenly serious. “Promise you’ll not stay away so long again,” she pleaded sweetly, her arms wrapped about his waist.
The flush in her cheeks darkened to the dusty rose of her gown, a shade that contrasted wonderfully with her ivory skin and blond hair. Martha’s eyes held a secret sheen of purpose as they met his.
“I promise,” Roman said, bending to kiss her on the cheek.
“Don’t I get a welcome?” Morgan chided, rising from his chair.
Martha turned, surprise registering in her face. “Morgan, I didn’t see you there,” she said softly, her eyes narrowing as the smile wavered on her lips.
“I am wounded,” he said gloomily, pretending to be greatly offended. “Cast aside for my scurrilous brother.”
Martha hastened to his side and reached up to kiss the tip of his nose. She smiled and laughed lightly, a gentle sound like the tinkling of silver bells.
Morgan relented and gave her a bear hug, kissing both her cheeks and not failing to note that her eyes were on Roman all the while.
“Hmmm,” he growled. “One night here and I feel like an outcast. I suppose soon I’ll be standing in as best man at a wedding,” he stated half-seriously, flashing a derisive grin at Roman and not failing to catch the warning in his brother’s eye.
“Don’t be cross, darling,” Martha cooed, and smiled knowingly at Morgan. She gave a demure wink so that her golden lashes swept over her cheek. “Maybe,” she whispered so that Roman couldn’t hear. “With a bit of help.” She squeezed Morgan’s hand and raised her voice again. “We’ve been waiting weeks for you to arrive, and I only learned this morning you were here.”
“This morning?” Morgan asked, puzzled. Hadn’t he seen her watching from her doorway last night when he had spoken to Roman and Silvia in the hall?
“Yes,” she responded, her face a mask of serenity as she directed them to be seated. “Vivien told me.”
“Then where the devil is Eric, and why weren’t you two here when the ship docked?” Morgan smiled and pinched her cheek playfully.
“We didn’t expect you for days, and Uncle sent us to Fredericksburg for supplies.” Martha looped her arm through Roman’s and started to the table. “Last night we got in quite late and everyone had retired.” Gracefully Martha lowered herself into the chair Roman held for her, taking a long moment to adjust her skirts before he could slip the chair forward. “Eric had to go to the fields this morning before breakfast,” she chatted on, pausing to pour tea from a delicate teapot painted with green and blue Chinese dragons. With her smooth, fluid movements she made the simple ceremony of pouring tea look as graceful as a dance. “He’ll be along soon if he can pry himself away. You know how he is about his precious crops. Even Uncle says he’s done wonders with production.”
“How is the old rogue?” Roman asked, accepting a cup of tea from Martha and smiling lightly as he withdrew his hand when her fingers deliberately brushed it. Roman drank deeply from his cup. Somehow he could not picture Wilhelm Schlange succumbing to illness or being bedridden. He turned to Martha. “Vivien said he was ill and confined to his room.”
She nodded. “Since the Anne Marie docked more than a fortnight ago, he’s hardly come downstairs.” Martha paused to add cream and a lump of sugar to her cup. “He’s had Crandall, the solicitor, come down from the northern colonies to attend to some mysterious business.” Sipping delicately from the porcelain cup, she lifted her eyes admiringly to Roman. “Eric and I have hardly seen him since he arrived. He sends us messages by Vivien.”
“And tight-lipped as Vivien is, there’s no way to know his true condition,” Morgan added. “They’re a strange pair, those two. And of course—”
“Oh, here’s Eric,” Martha said, turning quickly to greet a fair-haired man striding in dressed in tan riding breeches and carrying a leather crop. Instead of a coat he wore a simple cotton shirt, full-sleeved and open at the throat.
A wide smile ruffled Eric’s lightly tanned face. He paused a moment to comb his fingers through windblown blond hair. Eric stood half a head shorter than Roman and Morgan and had a considerably more slender build. Heavy blond brows accented a pair of mild blue eyes. His face, though angular, was thoroughly handsome and had a pleasant, good-humored expression. As he entered, he tossed a leather-bound book and the riding crop on a sideboard near the door and hurried toward the table.
“Roman, Morgan!” his voice rang out enthusiastically.
Both men stood and rushed to meet Eric. Soon all three were engaged in excited handshaking and backslapping and a vigorous exchange of greetings. In a few minutes the conversation grew calmer and the Tollers resumed their seats. Eric went to Martha and affectionately kissed her on the temple, before taking a seat next to Morgan.
“We thought you would never arrive,” Eric said, his frank gaze shifting from Morgan to Roman. “Uncle is behaving strangely, and neither Martha nor I know what to make of it.” He broke off speaking for a moment to serve his plate. He called us to his bedside a week ago and told us to expect you two within a few weeks, and since then not a word to either of us.” His face had become brooding.
Morgan and Roman listened intently. The urgency of Wilhelm’s summons for them to come to the island had already caused a measure of trepidation. Now they wondered if he were ill or involved in some subterfuge. Using illness as a cover for some scheme would not be beneath their uncle. On the other hand, he was an old man. The brothers exchanged questioning glances as Eric continued.
“He’s always been secretive, as you well know, especially when he’s onto something.” A d
eep light shone in Eric’s pale eyes. “No one ever knows what’s happening until he’s ready to execute a coup de grace.”
Eric sat back and Martha inclined her head in concordance.
“He arrived with a shipload of trunks and crates and had them all moved to the castle. He’s opened up rooms that have been closed for years, and had Vivien doing heaven knows what,” Martha added ruefully.
“And you think there’s something besides illness to account for his odd behavior?” Morgan smiled. Perhaps Eric and Martha had been isolated on Schlange Island too long and had forgotten the entire universe did not revolve around Wilhelm Schlange. To his memory the old man had never done anything that wasn’t peculiar.
“Yes,” Eric said, looking troubled. “There’s no accounting for his not seeing Martha and me but once since he’s been here.”
Roman laid a hand on Martha’s arm and patted it consolingly. “I think you’re making too much of a simple matter.” She smiled fleetingly and acknowledged his comment with a disagreeing shake of her head. “Most likely he simply can’t stand for anyone to see him when he’s not all fire and fury,” he added emphatically. “Once he’s on his feet, things will be the same again.”
“Oh no!” Martha said, looking up sharply. “There’s more.”
***
At her open window the atmosphere was fragrant with the smell of roses. Wearing the blue silk dress Vivien had returned to her only a few minutes earlier, Silvia stood looking out over the garden admiring the display of colorful blooms below. Somehow Vivien had managed to take the dress into a perfect fit. Sighing, she brushed her hands over the luxurious fabric of her skirt, enjoying the smooth feel of it and finding it hard to believe the gown was hers to wear. She had fashioned her hair into a large smooth bun at her nape, but in the humid air a dozen curls had sprung loose and curled vine like around her face.
Dark Splendor Page 5