Vivien had told her she was expected downstairs for breakfast at eight, and though that hour was approaching, she had not yet found the courage to leave her room. Instead she remained at the window looking out across the garden. The castle was truly enormous and was built in a square shape. She could see above her room another full floor as well as the tower rising almost to the clouds.
On the ground level high-arched gates bordered the courtyard at one end. She supposed there had been no reason to make the place a fortress, and Schlange had opted for lovely formal gardens in the enclosed area. The flowers were bordered by low hedges which ran in wavy patterns instead of the usual geometric designs. She liked the soft effect. Throughout, the grounds were lined with stone paths that wound from section to section.
Directly below was a portion of the garden devoted to roses, which was what furnished the abundance of perfume that drifted in her window. She could see the vivid reds, that stark whites, and the pale pinks and yellows of the blossoms. Most of the garden was visible from above, but at the far end near the gates, low-growing trees sheltered much of the area from view.
Benches were interspersed throughout and she saw that several rooms on the ground floor had French doors for access to the courtyard. In the center an enormous stone serpent with water gushing from its mouth rose out of a circular pool filled with green lily pads and cup-shaped white lilies.
Silvia gasped, and looked again at the overall pattern of the garden. The hedges were not random designs as she had thought, but were instead long green snakes when seen from above. At one end the hedges tapered to form tails and at the other rounded into heads. Each leafy creature appeared ready to devour a bird-shaped topiary bush near its mouth. Silvia shuddered and left the window. Anna was right, the whole place seemed to be crawling with snakes. Wilhelm Schlange harbored a strange obsession for his namesake.
Her eyes went to the small enameled clock on the dresser. It was a quarter past eight. Mr. Schlange would not be pleased with her lack of punctuality. Shuffling her feet into the kidskin slippers she had selected, she hurried along, delighting in the light, soft feel of the shoes on her feet after the heavy, stiff boots she was accustomed to wearing. Nevertheless she felt as if she were chained to the floor by her misgivings about going downstairs.
With each step, her heart fluttered like the wings of a frightened bird, fluttered as if she were one of those poor garden creatures awaiting impending doom. She cast a glance over her shoulder at the image of her anxious face and then her sense of duty prevailed. She could put it off no longer. She must go downstairs.
Her hands shook and she clasped and unclasped them until she reached the stairs. There was no one in the hall below, and she was grateful. Taking hold of the rail, she descended slowly, hearing a roar of excited voices from the direction Vivien had instructed her to take. Breathlessly she paused at the foot of the stairs, fighting the urge to run back to her room. But she hesitated only briefly before she stiffened her spine and hurried on her way.
A moment later she silently entered the dining room.
“Good morning.” Her voice called out clear and strong.
The lively conversation at the table died as four pairs of eyes riveted her in place, eyes that were curious, questioning, and threatened. Was that what she saw? She couldn’t be sure, for like the well-bred people they were, they quickly recovered their surprise and masked their emotions.
“I’m Silvia Bradstreet.” Silvia’s heart gave a great jump as she felt the stares, but she was pleased that her voice did not quiver and betray her nervousness.
The Tollers were seated looking as if they belonged, Roman holding the hand of a beautiful blond woman. Evidently the four of them knew each other well. She was relieved to see two additional places set at the table. One at the head where a thronelike, high-backed armchair covered in gold damask sat empty. Mr. Schlange’s, to be certain. The other, surely for her, was nearer the other end, directly across from the woman and beside the man she had not met. At least Vivien had not misled her that she was expected for breakfast.
The four of them rose and Martha spoke first. “We didn’t know if you would come down this morning, so we didn’t wait, I’m afraid.” Martha’s voice was light and sweet as she walked swiftly toward Silvia. “I’m Martha Muller, Mr. Schlange’s niece, and this is my brother. Eric.” She took Silvia’s hand and squeezed it warmly. “Please do call me Martha,” she added quietly.
“Thank you, Martha,” Silvia murmured uncomfortably. Why must she continue to feel like a bird in a trap when they were welcoming her so politely?
Eric joined them and bowed graciously. “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Bradstreet. Uncle had told us so little about you. Now that you’re here, you can answer all our questions,” he said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. “You know my cousins Roman and Morgan Toller, of course.”
The Tollers stood at the table. They bowed almost in unison and. Silvia thought, a little reluctantly on Roman’s part.
Her answering smile was only a flicker. She could not restrain the shock that drained her face of color. The Tollers were Schlange’s nephews. Would they be staying? Of course, she thought sagely, her skin seeming to prickle all over. They would not have traveled all the way from England for a brief stay. She chided herself for her worry. It was of no consequence to her if they did. Her obligation was to their uncle, and she expected after today she would have little contact with the Tollers.
“Please be seated, Miss Bradstreet.” Eric took her arm and escorted her to the table, not wasting any appreciative glances as his eyes assessed her quite frankly.
Silvia glanced questioningly at the empty chair at the head of the table.
“Uncle’s place is always set, but he won’t be joining us this morning,” Eric said matter-of-factly, though as he spoke there was a restless energy about his movement.
Nervously Silvia moistened her lips. When she and Martha were seated, the gentlemen resumed their seats as well.
Eric’s eyes were boring into her, his brows drawn together as if he were trying to remember something.
“So that’s it. Magda,” he cried, flinging himself back against the chair. “Don’t you see it?” He gestured wildly at the others, insisting they all look at her. “My God, she’s uncommonly like Magda. Look at her face.”
Silvia’s eyes widened, her lips quivering a little. She was uncomfortable enough having breakfast with a table full of strangers without all their attention focused on her.
“There is a small resemblance.” Martha said blandly, though she too looked calculatingly at Silvia. “But hardly enough to warrant an outburst.”
Silvia stiffened. What on earth were they talking about? She didn’t like being made sport of, and now everyone was staring at her. Martha’s eyes gleamed like dark lights, as if she were stripping away flesh to expose Silvia’s soul. Eric’s blazed excitedly yet shrewdly, and he was measuring everyone’s reactions.
The amused look had momentarily left Morgan’s eyes and now there was a glint of wonder in their blue depths. Only Roman’s eyes lacked curiosity. His simmering glare roamed over her figure, and one side of his mouth twisted into a smile. An invitation issued from his dark, insolent eyes.
“Please,” Silvia said sternly. Bond servant or not, she didn’t like being treated rudely.
“We are behaving badly,” Martha said sternly, and gave a disapproving glance to her cousins and brother. Hastily she poured a cup of tea for Silvia, but though she smiled and appeared calm, a slight rattling sounded when she lifted the saucer to pass it along. “Silvia’s just arrived at Serpent Tree Hall, and instead of treating her graciously, we’re gaping like magpies.”
“Remember, Eric,” Morgan started up, “none of us has ever actually seen Magda.”
“We’ve seen her likeness a thousand times in the library,” Eric sputtered, roused to indignation. “You fitted that dress on her yourself, Martha.”
“Yes, I did, but, Eric, a stone figure is hard
ly the same, and we have only Uncle’s description of her eyes and hair.” She shook her head and laughed softly.
“You won’t convince me I’m not right,” he replied querulously. “Let’s let Silvia tell us who she is and why she’s here.”
Silvia had stood all she could. It would have suited her better to have been moved in with the servants, where she would not have been regarded as an object of curiosity. This waiting to learn what her duties were was beginning to grate on her nerves, or maybe it was just the way Roman and Morgan Toller were looking at her as if they were enjoying her discomfort.
Surely they had something better to do than intimidate a new servant. She wasn’t listening to them any longer, as a slight frown stole onto her face. This wasn’t where she belonged, not with these spoiled, impudent people. She hoped to have an audience with Mr. Schlange right after breakfast. Perhaps he would send for her; if not, she would ask Vivien to arrange it.
Eric’s persistent voice broke into her thoughts. “Silvia, Miss Bradstreet, don’t keep us at bay any longer.”
A suggestion of annoyance hovered in her eyes. Silvia dabbed at her mouth with a linen napkin before folding it beside her plate. She spoke with a note of coolness in her voice. “Actually, there’s no mystery at all, I’m a bond servant indentured to your uncle and a seamstress by trade.”
Martha’s mouth gaped open and there was a tiny twitch of her brows. Eric’s forehead furrowed deeply as he exchanged a baffled look with Martha.
Roman and Morgan seemed intent on returning to their interrupted breakfast.
Suddenly Eric began to laugh. “You’re evening the score at our expense. A bond servant indeed!” His laughter had a sharp edge which perturbed Silvia more. “Martha, she’s set us back a step or two.” His voice had risen an octave and his face reddened as he laughed.
“I assure you it is no joke,” Silvia responded, dismayed. Her small hands gripped the edge of the table so tightly her fingers cramped.
“I’ll wager you’re a long-lost cousin, some relative of Magda’s, and that’s what this mystery is all about,” Eric murmured. “That’s Uncle’s surprise. He’s put you up to keeping quiet about it until he’s ready to make the announcement.”
“I assure you I don’t know who this Magda is,” Silvia said wrathfully. “I am a servant and nothing more.” Indignantly she rose from the table. “Your cousins can attest to the fact. We traveled on the same ship.”
Eric looked crestfallen. “Is that right, Roman? Is she a bond servant?”
For a moment Roman studied her intently, his eyes dark and hooded. A smile flickered on his lips as he lowered his voice to sound deliberately mysterious. “Now that I think of it, she did say she was a bond servant.”
Eric threw up his hands and sighed.
Roman tossed his head back, an aloof smile on his lips. “However, we have only her word for that. The bond servants traveled in the hold, and Miss Bradstreet had a private cabin. Very private—that, Morgan and I can both attest to.” He laughed wickedly.
Silvia’s face flamed and she whirled about. He had deliberately twisted his words to make it sound as if she had scandalously entertained them on the ship. Nothing could be further from the truth.
“What’s this?” Eric looked at her enigmatically.
Roman’s laughing eyes raked over her critically and beamed his approval of his fine joke. She wondered how he had the nerve to look at her that way and behave as he did. The man was incorrigible. Martha watched Roman from the corner of her eye and with a vague hint of disapproval on her face.
Quickly she was up and at Silvia’s side. “Eric. That’s enough,” Martha said firmly, taking a sisterly hold on Silvia’s hand. “Come with me, Silvia. We’ll take a stroll in the garden and leave those rogues to their revelry.”
Silvia welcomed any escape and docilely followed Martha through the French doors and into the garden. They walked silently for a few minutes until they were some distance away from the men. As the smell of roses grew stronger and sweeter, Silvia felt her agitation begin to dispel. She smiled lightly as tiny blue butterflies rose like clouds out of the bushes. By the time Martha stopped beside a stone bench with a backdrop of blooming oleanders, she was feeling much better.
“Let’s sit,” Martha said cheerfully. “We’re going to be friends, I’m sure.”
The fresh air improved Silvia’s spirits even more. She liked the garden with its exotic plants and a profusion of lovely flowers. It was impossible to stay angry among so much beauty. Martha’s sweet face held a look of sympathy and understanding. In response, Silvia relaxed her own strained features and settled her skirts about her on the bench. Martha wanted to be her friend and she truly hoped there would be at least one person at Serpent Tree Hall she could trust and confide in.
“You musn’t mind them,” Martha began, her eyes beautifully serene. “It’s always like this for a few days after someone arrives. We so rarely see anyone, and Eric gets terribly excited about things.” She patted Silvia’s hand consolingly. “My brother is generally a quiet man. No doubt he’ll soon apologize for his outburst,” she added. “Eric likes you. I can tell.”
“Thank you, Martha,” Silvia said wearily. “I’m afraid it all upset me badly. But at least you seem to understand how difficult it is coming to a new land and not knowing what it will be like or what reception you’ll get.”
“Of course I do. It was hard for Eric and me to come here, but Uncle insisted. And now it’s home for us. You’ll come to like it too.” An expression of satisfaction showed in her eyes. She leaned nearer Silvia and whispered, “I know about the secret. You don’t have to pretend with me.”
A secret? Silvia wavered a moment, totally bewildered and wondering what to say. When she spoke, her voice was shaky and a little impatient. “I really don’t know anything about a secret.”
Martha looked briefly disappointed. “Very well then,” she said softly. “We’ll forget about it. But you must tell me all about yourself. About your home in England and about your family. I want to know everything.” She smiled encouragingly.
It was easy talking to Martha and responding to her lighthearted questions. Almost before she knew it, Silvia had told about her childhood and how her parents had been killed in an accident and about her Uncle Hollister and how she had decided to come to the colonies as a bond servant. She did purposely leave off, however, telling about her encounter with Roman on the ship.
“So it only remains for Uncle to say what he intends doing with you,” Martha said at last, her voice odd, yet gentle.
A sudden breeze swept in and blew an escaping curl over Silvia’s forehead. Absently she brushed at it with her hand. Martha’s words rang in her mind and she felt remotely as if she had just waked up. Martha made it sound as if she were a sacrificial lamb and Wilhelm Schlange held the knife.
Standing at a window across the garden she saw a dark figure, just a black shape except for the hawkish face and cold eyes. Suddenly it occurred to Silvia that Vivien was the only person at Serpent Tree Hall who knew Schlange’s purpose in bringing her here.
She excused herself to Martha and hurried across the courtyard toward the open door where Vivien waited silently.
“I must see Mr. Schlange right away,” Silvia said breathlessly. “It’s urgent. There are things I have to know.”
Vivien’s face remained expressionless and Silvia could imagine her standing still for hours in the same maddening way.
“That is impossible. Mr. Schlange is extremely ill. It will be several days before he is well enough to see anyone.” Her colorless lips hardly moved when she spoke, nor was there a flicker of emotion in her voice.
“Then maybe you can tell me?” Silvia asked hopefully.
“I can tell you nothing,” Vivien answered, her voice flat and remote. “Mr. Schlange will tell you everything in time. Until then you are free to do as you wish.”
Silvia’s lip dropped, and while she touched a hand to her heart, Vivien turned
and in a moment vanished as if she were made of smoke.
Chapter 5
Perplexed, Silvia started up the long, cool hallway toward the staircase at the front of the house. Vivien’s sallow face and polite reticence had made her blood pump heatedly through her veins and filled her with an overwhelming desire to vent her opinions on someone. Yet it was the acute hopelessness of her frustration that made her notice how unnaturally quiet the castle was. Such a place should be teeming and throbbing with the noisy sounds of daily activity. But as she moved through the long and empty passageway, she neither saw nor heard anything to indicate another person was astir.
Rough-hewn gray stone, fitted so tightly a crack could not be found, formed both the inner and outer walls of the castle and made the arched ceiling overhead. Tall open windows allowed free circulation of air and an infusion of light into the grayed interior, which had a simple beauty all its own. Spaced between the windows like silent sentinels sat marble busts placed on sturdy mahogany pedestals.
Silvia gave them little notice as she passed. With her eyes cast downward and her thoughts in a meditative whirl, she was only slightly aware of her surroundings. Walking along, lost in her tumbling thoughts, she had nearly reached the stairs when she looked up, and curiosity, like a balm, overcame her consternation and indignation at Vivien’s pronouncement.
She had passed many rooms with closed doors, but none had piqued her senses until she saw the one with beautifully inlaid patterns of exotic woods. An appreciation of craftsmanship and the contrasting colors of the ornamental woods drew her eyes and attention. She stopped to examine more closely the dark paneled double doors, which were open just a crack.
The inlaid alabaster serpent design and elaborate gold serpentine door handles indicated something special rested behind the dark panels. Her fingers touched and caressed the smooth glistening wood as she debated with herself if she should look inside. It was as much a surge of defiance at being left alone and bewildered as it was curiosity that eventually tempted her to peek.
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