Dark Splendor

by Parnell, Andrea

  “It is necessary that you understand the importance of the thing you are about to do. I have gone to an enormous amount of trouble to find you and bring you here. Indeed, it took my agents in London many months to find the right woman.” He paused to catch his breath and pull a blanket higher on his chest. “Months I fear I can ill afford to lose. That is why it is essential that no more time be wasted.”

  “I am anxious to do your bidding, Mr. Schlange.” Silvia felt a small hope budding within her. “But there is a matter of personal significance I must bring to your attention.” She would tell him of her feelings for Roman. It would be best if he knew right away.

  “It can wait,” he said sternly, the effort weakening him so that he gasped for breath before continuing. “I will speak while my strength lasts.”

  He paused again and Silvia felt his will like a pelting of hot needles on her flesh. She fidgeted in her chair, thinking how penetrating and unusual his eyes were as they searched her face.

  “Listen until I have finished.” The harshness of his voice silenced her.

  Her face clouded with uneasiness and she sat back, quaking as if she were on the gallows. He was ill and upset. There would be another time to tell him of her dilemma. Her slender fingers tensed on the arms of the chair. For now it would be best to humor the old man.

  Schlange cleared his throat, then took a sip of some liquid in a pewter mug on the table beside him. His expression softened.

  “Forgive my sharpness, miss. I have little time before my voice fails me.” His hand shook as he lowered the mug to the table again. “I am old and I think my death is not so far off.”

  “Oh no, Mr. Schlange,” Silvia burst out, her voice rising an octave. “Surely you will recover.”

  “I thank you for your concern, my dear, but I fear I have only a few months left. A year at most.” His eyes rolled back. “Dying is a matter I gave no thought to all my life, and consequently, now that death is upon me, I have not prepared for the event. That is why time is precious and all must he attended to in the short while I have left.” He was silent for a moment. “It is why I have brought you here.”

  “I don’t understand how I can be of help, Mr. Schlange, other than to give you my assistance and care during your last months. I am not a nurse but I have helped care for the sick at times. I will willingly do all I can to help ease your suffering.”

  “I do not require a nurse, my dear, I require a bride.”

  She felt cold, as if the blood had been siphoned from her body. Did he mean to marry her? It was impossible. Even out of kindness she could not agree to marriage. And what could he possibly hope to gain by marrying her? Her thoughts rushed to Roman and her wishful dream of being his wife.

  Like a dry leaf in the wind, her voice shook. “Surely you don’t wish to marry me, Mr. Schlange.”

  “No, my dear. I do not intend that you be my bride.” He laughed, a sickly croaking sound. “That honor belongs to another. For him you are the perfect bride. You have spirit and intelligence and beauty, just as my Magda had.” His eyes grew hooded with a look that frightened her. “I trust you do not have the one flaw Magda had.” The veins pulsed fiercely beneath his thin skin.

  “Mr. Schlange, please...”

  “Be quiet, my dear,” he said in a rambling far-off voice. “I will have my say and you will share my secret. One I have kept for many years.”

  Silvia gave up the struggle within herself. He was desperately ill, unstable, and there was nothing for her to do but hear him out. Probably by evening he would have forgotten having seen her. She wondered if the family knew the true state of his health and mind. She would report to Roman and Martha what he said. Mr. Schlange, too, had noticed a resemblance to Magda and seemed to confuse her with the dead woman. It was common, though sad, that the elderly sometimes mistook strangers for persons they had known in their youth.

  “I see, my dear, that you think me mad. I am not. It is only that I want you to know the reason for what I have done.” He coughed and sipped again from the mug. “Magda was my wife and I loved her greatly, indeed have loved no other woman. I gave her all the things a woman requires, and more—a castle a queen would envy, beautiful gowns, jewels, servants. She wanted for nothing. I asked only that she give me a son. To my joy, she accommodated me within the first year.”

  “She was a fortunate woman, Mr. Schlange, to have your love and the child,” Silvia said softly, ignoring the tight lump in her throat.

  “Yes, a fortunate woman.” He stiffened his back. “But all I gave her was not enough. Not even the child was enough. She was not content. She wanted more. She wanted me to devote myself to her as she devoted herself to me. Something a man such as I could not do. I had other needs. Those a woman like Magda could neither satisfy nor understand.” His voice grew weak and hoarse. “She learned of my ‘taste for harlots,’ as she called it, and in time, it drove her mad. She swore she would get revenge. Finally, to keep her safe, I had to lock her in her rooms.”

  “I’m very sorry, Mr. Schlange.”

  He had forgotten her for a time. His eyes were set in a blank stare and he smiled faintly as if he might be seeing Magda’s face.

  “She seemed to recover, to be as she had been. One day she asked me to take her and the child for a walk by the river. I agreed, thinking her well, but the request was a scheme from her weakened mind.” He paused, his eyes darkening. “Magda got her vengeance that day. She threw herself and my son into the water and onto the rocks near the banks.” His voice was suddenly vicious and Silvia drew back a little. “I swore as I pulled them from the water that day, thirty years ago, I would never make another woman my wife.”

  Silvia’s eyes glistened with tears. She didn’t know what to make of Wilhelm Schlange, but she ached for Magda’s pain, for Schlange’s blindness to his wife’s love, for the loss a stubborn old man could not admit. He selfishly blamed Magda for the unhappiness he had brought on himself. Yet he struck a chord of pity in Silvia’s heart. She stifled a sob that brought a shudder of sadness to her chest. Schlange had grieved for thirty years for the loss of his wife and son. Her tears fell unchecked and she searched her pocket for a handkerchief.

  “You lost them both,” she said in a quavering whisper.

  “No, my dear.” Schlange smiled. “I have my son.” His eyes narrowed and glowed fiendishly. “Little Willy. Your husband.”

  Chapter 8

  Silvia could see nothing but the burning yellow-green of Wilhelm Schlange’s eyes. She shivered violently and her harshly indrawn breaths brought a sharp pain to her chest. Swallowing a wave of sickness, she gasped and wrung her damp hands, feeling too weak to rise to her feet and flee. The madness of his words rang in her ears like a loud clanging bell.

  What was to become of her? Mr. Schlange was demented. He imagined her to be his dead wife, Magda, or the wife of his dead son. He had no son. Vivien or Martha would have mentioned a son. Perhaps he had never had a son. Cringing, she placed a trembling hand over her lips.

  “Have I frightened you, my dear?” He had taxed his strength and his voice was now a weak hiss. “You still think me mad. I assure you I am quite sane. It is only this pitiable body that defies my will.”

  It took all Silvia’s stamina, but she gathered what courage she could to answer him.

  “I think you are ill and confused, sir, to mistake me for your son’s wife. I am Silvia Bradstreet, indentured to your service for a term of five years.”

  Schlange leaned forward, taking from the table a leather sheaf from which he removed a bundle of papers. The effort cost him much of his remaining strength and his face turned bluish as he gasped for breath. When he had rested a few minutes he broke the black wax seal on the papers and opened them up.

  “You are Silvia Schlange, my dear.” He thrust the papers to her. “You will recognize your handwriting on the certificates of marriage.”

  Silvia took the papers, as much to appease him as to see what madness he was expostulating. She glanced
suspiciously at Schlange before dropping her eyes to the document.

  “This isn’t true!” Silvia exclaimed in disbelief. A sob caught in her throat and she felt as if the breath were being squeezed out of her. “How have you done this? And why?” she shouted, springing to her feet.

  Schlange smiled, seeming to have gained vigor from her distress.

  “My dear, it is no dishonor to be mistress of Serpent Tree Hall. I believe you have already found it to your liking. I am told you have grown fond of leisure and luxury and of the attentions of my nephews. Indeed you have it within your reach to become the toast of the colonies, to visit your England as a lady of wealth. Does that appall you, my dear?”

  Nervously Silvia rubbed together hands that had grown suddenly cold. She answered in a low, frightened voice.

  “Mr. Schlange, the fact remains that these documents are not legal. Your agents must have tricked me into signing them when I thought I was signing copies of the bond agreement. Whatever your intention, they are not valid.” She turned away from him, wanting to avoid the gleam of those terrifying eyes. When she spoke again it was in a near whisper. “Sir, I am not convinced you have a son at all.”

  He answered quite calmly. “My dear daughter-in-law, the documents are legal, duly witnessed and registered, signed in your own hand, as any court will verify. There is no record of a bond agreement ever having existed.”

  She whirled around, her face ashen. “What could you possibly want from me?”

  The light in his eyes quickened. His hand fastened around a tasseled bell pull at his side and he tugged it three times. Then he sank back on his pillows to rest. He was tired and didn’t try to speak again for a few minutes. Silvia’s reproachful eyes filled with tears. Schlange’s lips twitched in a semblance of a smile as they faced each other in silence until a light knock sounded at the door. Presently it swung open and Silvia saw that Vivien had returned. She felt a surge of reassurance in her heart. Vivien would know how to handle the old man.

  “You have him?” Schlange asked weakly.

  “He is here,” Vivien answered.

  “Come here, my dear, stand beside me,” Schlange said softly, gesturing to Silvia.

  She obeyed, wondering, as she took a place near him, what strange hypnotic quality made her do as he said. Some intuitive prodding told her she did not want to hear what he would say next. Yet she stood quietly and obediently by his side, awaiting her fate. Her shock had turned to dread, and she closed her eyes, praying she was in a dream that would end when she opened them again.

  Strengthened, Schlange propped himself up more. Silvia heard the door shut. At last her anxiety could bear no more strain and she opened her eyes. She felt her spine go rigid, and at the same time her jaw slackened and her mouth fell open. Across the room she saw a dark-haired man standing with Vivien, his back turned to Silvia. Abruptly she glanced at Schlange, and as she did, felt an uncomfortable twist in her stomach. Schlange’s sharp eyes were trained on her face.

  The thin lips twitched and then moved in speech. His eyes were brighter than flames and there was something terrible about the look on his face.

  “Silvia, my dear, I present to you your husband.” His voice rang out, amazingly clear and arrogant. “Willy, come across and meet your bride.”

  Silvia had been struck dumb, senseless, turned to ice. She watched Willy slowly make a half-turn toward his father. For a long minute his gaze remained locked with Vivien’s as if they communicated in some unspoken way. In profile, Silvia saw a face as handsome as any she had ever looked on. Willy was tall and slender, with hair blacker than midnight. Even from a distance she could see he had the peculiar yellow-green eyes of his father. He looked to be about thirty, but though she could see only part of his face, there appeared to be an odd childlike quality to it.

  Vivien’s arm at his elbow, Willy turned fully toward them and moved haltingly in their direction. Paralyzed for a moment, Silvia wanted to scream, but no sound would form on her lips; instead she drew in a breath so sharply and deeply her lungs felt as if they would burst. She heard, as if from far away, Wilhelm Schlange’s rasping laugh.

  Life came back to her with a jolt and a burning flush in her cheeks. She made a faltering step backward. The side of Willy’s face that had been hidden from her view looked as if it had been pounded with a rock until the bones were crushed and broken. The skin there was a fiery red and crisscrossed with scars that rose up like angry welts in his flesh. Only his eye had been spared the disfigurement. He looked at her now, his gaze capturing hers with its strangeness. A slow, questioning smile spread across his lips.

  “No!” Her hand fluttered to her heart. “This is lunacy! You cannot mean it.”

  “Calm yourself, my dear.” Schlange was smiling, his eyes fevered with excitement. “Willy is fond of you, you can see.”

  Willy’s smile had become the simple delighted grin of a child. She looked at his grotesque face and saw the simple innocence in his wide eyes. Poor Willy was a child-man, an unfortunate boy in a disfigured body that had outgrown his mind.

  “Leave us, Vivien.” Wilhelm’s voice bore an autocratic power that even his sickly body could not undermine.

  Vivien’s eyes darkened and she glared speculatively at Silvia before exiting the room. In that instant Silvia knew a feeling of dreadful menace she had never before recognized. She bit the back of her hand, hoping the pain would halt the helpless, weak feeling sweeping through her. Wilhelm’s eyes narrowed and his face bore a wickedly triumphant expression.

  “You will see, my dear. It will not be a difficult task. You will be his wife in name only. My son is a harmless simpleton, both docile and dumb. In time you will grow accustomed to his ugly face. You need not see it often. It will be enough for you to visit him now and then. The boy will not hamper your activities.” He laughed wickedly. “You will be mistress of Serpent Tree Hall. Every luxury you desire or could dream of having will be yours. All that is here”—his voice rose and he made a sweeping gesture with his arm—”is yours to use as you wish.”

  Dismay made her voice tremble, but she had to challenge his claim. She fought the breathless, faint sensation that weakened her legs and made her shake. She must think logical thoughts and speak to him with reason behind her words.

  “Sir, I acknowledge your generosity. However, I submit that no marriage took place, and despite your offer of luxury and riches, I would choose my own husband. My uncle in London will testify that a marriage did not occur. You have brought me here by deceit and therefore have no right to hold me to our agreement.”

  Wilhelm fell back against a pillow, smiling his infuriating smile, looking as if he found a perverse pleasure in the exchange.

  “Silvia, child, my solicitors can produce witnesses who will swear a wedding by proxy took place in London and will insist the bride was happy and willing.” He drummed his gnarled fingers on the back of the settee. “As for your uncle, he is at this very moment opening a fat purse in the Hare and Hound and bragging about the splendid match his niece has made, and of the generosity of her husband.”

  Silvia’s brows lifted faintly as she took a quick gasp of breath. There were no flaws in his madness, but she could not give up trying to persuade him he was wrong. She brushed angry tears from her cheeks, and when she spoke, her voice was tightly controlled.

  “You cannot keep me here against my will. I will never acknowledge marriage to this man. That, you cannot make me do.”

  There was a mirthless twist to his lips that gave his sunken cheeks an even more unnatural appearance. He liked her spirit, though in the end it would profit her nothing. She would bend to his will just like everyone else. An odd, slightly eager look lit his eyes in delight.

  Schlange’s instinct for judging people had never failed him, and this young woman would not be the exception. He had noted with satisfaction the look of pity in her face when she glanced at Willy. A hoarse chuckle sounded gruffly from his throat. He had an innate talent for finding the we
aknesses in people, and he had already discovered hers.

  He lifted a frail arm and stabbed a finger at her.

  “My dear, I remind you that this entire island belongs to me, as well as all who are on it. Not a ship sails in or out of the harbor without the Schlange flag. You are, if you wish it, a prisoner here, and you will do as I say.” His voice was hard and menacing, as cold, mocking triumph shone brightly from his eyes. “I have made you the bride of my son and you will acknowledge it before the world.”

  Tension tightened her shoulders. Still, she lifted her chin proudly and her nostrils flared in defiance. She wouldn’t give in. She wouldn’t let him have his way so easily. Silvia gathered her courage and spoke in a calm quiet tone that belied the fear and anger knotting inside her.

  “Please...” She swallowed and tried her voice again. “Tell me what you hope to gain by this pretense of a marriage. Willy is a child. What purpose can it serve except to satisfy the ravings of an old man?”

  Schlange folded his arms over his chest. His face gained color and his eyes glowed savagely.

  “Have you not guessed, my dear? You disappoint me. I have a son who is no son. I have the wealth of centuries at my hand, and death calling at my door. For three hundred years there has been a Serpent Tree Hall, and the Schlange name is known through all Europe.” He raised his voice and went on staunchly, eyes resentfully on Willy. “My ancestors built an empire in Germany. Each generation has handed it down larger and richer to the next. I have surpassed them all in adding wealth and holdings. Am I to pass my empire to a mindless monster, a shell of a man I have kept hidden for decades?”

  Silvia’s face went white.

  “If not to Willy, then to whom? Your nephews?”

  “No! To a Schlange.” He pointed sharply at Willy.

  “He might have been a fine son, one I could look on with pride, but for his mother’s insanity. She carried him in her arms when she threw herself in the water and ended her life.” His sickly face contorted with the rage he had harbored almost three decades. “She wanted to rob me of my son. She said I had emptied her heart and she wanted me to know that emptiness every day I lived.” Schlange paused to ease his labored breathing. An indescribable grimness showed on his pale face. “Better he had died. The fall nearly tore his face away. But worse, it injured his brain, and his mind ceased to grow beyond that of a child.”