Dark Splendor

by Parnell, Andrea

  Willy’s eyes clouded with fright at Schlange’s menacing tone, and he backed away from his father. Silvia’s heart ached for him. She saw poor Willy’s loneliness and fear masked behind his pitiable ruined face. How cruel his father had been to keep him locked away all those years, to be ashamed of his son, to hide him from the world, and to deny poor Willy a father’s love.

  “He is Magda’s vengeance,” Schlange said with a horrible smirk to his mouth. “She has cursed me with a son who cannot honor the Schlange name. I have nephews, my sisters’ sons, who are a hundredfold the man my son is. But they do not carry the name of Schlange.” His thin lips tightened and his hands shook angrily. “Magda laughs from her grave. But I will not die until I have bested her.”

  For a moment Silvia stared at him, seeing the hatred that had wound its thorny vines around his heart. Her face blanched as he lifted his thin arm and, with a shaking hand, again pointed a finger at her.

  “You, my dear, are my triumph. You will bear me a grandson.”

  Silvia’s face was pale and fearful. She felt suffocated, her breath a ragged catch in her throat that would not fill her lungs with air. Her mind raged in a bewildering tempest that shook the very core of her being. The room around her was silent, and in the void she could hear the thunder of her heart. She gasped and her breath came back in a panicky rush. A moment later Silvia heard her own voice, frail and frightened.

  “How is that possible? Surely this poor soul cannot father a child.”

  “No, my dear. He cannot,” Wilhelm answered with a malevolent grin. “But finding a substitute to father the child should be no problem for you.” A yellow light shone in his sunken eyes. “Not in this household.”

  Silvia’s temper flared and she meant to defy him any way she could. She gave a tight little smile.

  “How could that satisfy you? The child would not truly be your grandson.”

  Schlange smiled peculiarly in return. He answered without emotion.

  “He would carry the Schlange name. Schlange blood would flow in his veins. It will have to suffice. And I can die having left an heir worthy of me.”

  “I won’t do it,” she announced firmly. “No matter what you say or do I will not be part of this scheme. I will not bear a child to satisfy you. I will find a way to leave this island and prove the truth. I’ll tell the others everything.” Her heart lurched within her chest as she doubted her own words. “They will help me.”

  “My dear, do you think me a fool? They do as I say. Just as you will.”

  Silvia sobbed, aching as if part of her heart had been plucked away. Was it true? Did they all follow Schlange’s orders? Had she not found herself in Roman’s bed only a few hours ago? She might already be carrying the child Wilhelm Schlange would claim as his grandson. Surely Roman was not part of this evil plan. Silvia choked on a sob and clutched at her throat. Or was he? Had he arranged to have someone frighten her, knowing she would run to his arms? “No, surely not,” she murmured sadly. It could not be true.

  “No?” Schlange mocked her, his patience and his strength waning.

  “I don’t believe you,” she whispered. “They will help me when I tell them what you’ve done.”

  “No, my dear. They will not,” he said adamantly. “And you will say only what I instruct you to say. You will bear a child within the year, and to all the world he will be known as the grandson of Wilhelm Schlange. No one will know what has been spoken here today.”

  Silvia was clinging desperately to her sanity and hope.

  “You cannot hold me in this room, and when I leave, I’ll tell everyone. Martha, the servants, your nephews. Everyone!”

  His eyes left her and went to his son.

  “Willy!” he called loudly. “Come here.”

  Willy jerked back as if he had been hit, then slowly, obediently approached his father.

  “Sit here.”

  Willy crouched down and sat cross-legged on the floor beside Schlange. He looked imploringly at Silvia, as if pleading with her not to leave him alone with his father.

  Silvia’s hands flew to her mouth.

  From the pocket of his dressing gown, Wilhelm produced a small pistol. Slowly he cocked the gun, a sharp deadly click, and placed the barrel to Willy’s head.

  “My dear, I have told you what I require, and you have refused to aid me willingly. Now I tell you I will not die in shame. I will not leave this dolt as heir to my fortune. I will leave an heir worthy of the Schlange name or I will leave no heir at all.”

  Silvia’s mouth went dry. “You would kill your own son?”

  “Do you think I would not?” His voice had turned vicious and his yellow eyes were cold as stone.

  “Please. You must not do this.” She backed away from Schlange until she reached the door. She had to get help. The thought that he might shoot her fled quickly. Whatever the consequence, she must get help. Her hands fumbled behind her for the knob, but the door wouldn’t open. She whirled around, gasping fearfully as she twisted at the knob desperately and beat at the rough wood until her knuckles were bruised and throbbing. She moaned. Vivien must have turned the key behind her, and there was no escape.

  Frantically Silvia faced Wilhelm again, her heart nearly stopping. The old man had grown weary and the pistol shook in his feeble grip, but his strange eyes still shone like beacons.

  “You have a simple choice, my dear. If you value your life and his, you will do as I say.”

  “I would rather die.”

  “Yes, I think you might. But will you first watch me kill this lad? Will you watch me fire the shot that ends his life?”

  “He is your son.”

  “He is your husband. Would you see him die?”

  Willy stretched out his palms to her and made a small choking sound. His lips were parted and quivering, his eyes filled with terror. How much of his father’s threat did he understand? It was the tragedy of his plight that wrenched Silvia’s heart. She could not tear her eyes from Willy’s pleading face. He was a helpless and pathetic sight, and innocent of Wilhelm’s malice.

  “No,” she said in a haunting whisper. “Leave him be. I will do as you say.”

  Smiling triumphant, Schlange pulled the pistol away from Willy’s head.

  “You are wise, my dear. In time you will come to welcome the decision you have made.” He jerked the bell pull and fell back weakly. “Now I am tired and Vivien will take you to your rooms. Do precisely as she tells you and speak of this to no one.”

  Without hesitating, Silvia crossed the room and took Willy by the hand, helping him to his feet. She forced a weak smile to her face, and gently patting his shoulder, seated him in a chair across from the settee. Willy clung to her hand like a small, terrified child. Before she could say a comforting word to reassure him, there was a thumping sound from Wilhelm’s bedroom.

  Startled, Silvia looked up.

  “Is someone there?” she asked Wilhelm.

  “The room is locked. Something must have fallen. Go.” He gestured weakly toward his room. “See what you can find.”

  She obeyed reluctantly, walking slowly to the arched doorway which led to his sleeping chamber. The room was dark, with the draperies drawn and no candles lit. She moved cautiously into the room and for a moment stood rooted to the floor, looking around before daring to take another step.

  She tried to determine the spot from which the sound had come. Her nerves already frayed, she crept cautiously around Schlange’s bed, scarcely able to see beyond the huge high-backed mahogany frame which bore the Schlange crest on a carved panel. Brocade fittings of black and gold hung open from the high canopied top of the bed. The other furnishings, she noted as she moved through the room, were also of ornately carved mahogany, the upholstery of gold-and-gray-striped brocade.

  Silvia stopped and braced herself with a hand wrapped around the post at the foot of the bed. The room was neat and clean, each item in place, except one. On the floor in front of a night table lay a small silver frame.<
br />
  Relieved, she picked up the object from the floor. The little frame had a delicate scroll pattern and was only slightly larger than her hand. She lifted it higher to catch a beam of light that came through the doorway. It held a miniature painting that was a family portrait. She knew at once the handsome blond man was Wilhelm and she saw that even in his youth his eyes had held a distinctive savagery. Beside him was a lovely dark-haired woman. Magda, she supposed, before Wilhelm had driven her mad. In her arms the woman held a beautiful child of about two. Willy.

  Shivering, Silvia ran her finger over the edge of the frame, thinking it must be the only portrait in Serpent Tree Hall. Perhaps even Wilhelm, for all his wickedness, harbored a small fragment of sentiment, or perhaps, she thought with a shiver, the portrait served to keep his hatred fresh. Taking a moment to compose herself, she replaced the little portrait on the night table and returned to the sitting room.

  “What did you find?” Wilhelm asked gruffly.

  She had not succeeded in stopping the slight trembling that shook her body. It sounded in her voice as well. “Something had fallen from the night table.” She felt the quiver in her throat as she spoke. “It must have been too near the edge and toppled off.”

  At that moment Vivien returned and the interruption was forgotten. Silvia was anxious to get away from Wilhelm, though she doubted the memory of his sinister face would ever be erased from her mind. She thought dolefully that she would never escape the terrible spell of gloom that had descended on her world.

  Schlange ignored her now as he issued his instructions to Vivien, who nodded stiffly before ushering both Silvia and Willy from the room. She led them along the corridor and instructed Silvia to wait while she unlocked a door and took Willy inside. Then she brought Silvia to her room, and making sure she went in, left with a sharp reminder not to speak of her conversation with Mr. Schlange. He wished to announce the marriage to his niece and nephews in his own way when he was stronger. Meanwhile Silvia was to continue as if the conversation had not taken place.

  Once Vivien was gone, Silvia rushed to the dressing table and hurriedly took out the few papers she had brought from London. Schlange had forgotten she held a portion of the bond agreement. She took it and hid it beneath the mattress on her bed. When the time was right, that precious document would prove she had been the victim of Wilhelm Schlange’s evil scheme.

  Silvia declined to join the family at lunch, and only after several hours could she make her way alone to the rose garden. The day was hot and calm, the sun beating down on the garden like a tyrant’s sword. An occasional blue-shadowed cloud cooled the air, then dissolved into sunlight above her. Silvia moved like a sleepwalker, hardly knowing how she had gotten to the garden, so bitter were the blackness and sorrow in her heart.

  Her face had become as pale as the white rose petals, and tears streamed down her eyes like silver ribbons. She had long ago given up dabbing at them with her lace-edged handkerchief. She longed to see Roman but simply could not face him with such troublesome doubts in her heart. A throbbing fear pounded furiously in her mind, warning her he might be part of Wilhelm’s wicked plan. And that, as much as all else, broke her heart.

  She felt a light tap on her shoulder and heard a deep, rich voice calling her name. Awakening from her daze, she looked up, her sad eyes meeting the cheerful face of Morgan Toller.

  Seeing her stricken expression, Morgan frowned suddenly and lifted Silvia’s chin with his finger.

  “Now, what in a rose garden could bring tears to those beautiful eyes?”

  Her tears streamed anew and she sobbed openly. Morgan, frowning, took a seat beside her and gently patted her back. His touch was comforting and he consolingly pulled her head to his shoulder to nestle against him. Her sobbing ebbed under his tender ministrations. She sniffed, bringing the handkerchief to her nose. Morgan’s shoulder was warm and his whispered words soothing. In a few moments she had dried her tears and lifted her head. Morgan smiled and obligingly took both her hands in his and alternately drew each tiny fist to his lips.

  “If I could kiss away your troubles, love, I would do that. Will you tell me what has distressed you so? Has Roman...?” He continued to hold her hands, squeezing them gently.

  “No. It has nothing to do with Roman. I...I am homesick for London.” Her voice quivered.

  How she wished she could confide in Morgan. But she dared not trust Morgan, nor anyone else at Serpent Tree Hall. Wilhelm had said they all obeyed his commands. Were they all a part of his scheme? Had their friendships all been a facade? And if they didn’t know Wilhelm’s plans, how would they react to her once they learned she was married to their cousin?” Seeing the kindness and concern in Morgan’s face, however, she could not believe he would willingly hurt her.

  But she had not believed it of Roman either. She had gone to him for protection and then had surrendered herself to him. Roman had loved her with endearments and gentle touches, had seared her heart with his embrace. Doubts raged anew within her mind. Had he seduced her at his uncle’s command?

  Across the garden Roman lifted his head in surprise. The scene he saw among the roses brought a grimace to his face. He had searched the house and grounds looking for Silvia when she failed to appear for breakfast. He had sent Anna to fetch her from her rooms, and the girl had returned saying she was not in. When she did not come down to lunch, he had asked Martha if she were ill. Martha reported she had not seen Silvia since the evening before. Finally, in desperation, he had gone to her door himself and knocked, but got no answer.

  Now he understood why he had been unable to find her. She had gone from his arms into those of his brother. Angrily he snapped a limb from a tree branch and flung it to the ground. A nerve twitched in his temple. Silvia had captured his heart as no other woman had done. He had thought her special. A taste of metal filled his mouth. Bitterly he remembered the soft look in her honey-drop eyes, the silken feel of coal-black hair against his skin, and the stirring whisper of her voice in his ear. She had been a virgin in his bed. That he did not doubt.

  Then how could she be so connivingly flirting with his brother? Had she only acted a very good part the night before? And how many men would she attempt to attract? A sharp pain stabbed at his chest. Roman clamped his jaw tight and swung around, heading for the stables.

  The harshness had not left his eyes when Martha’s soft voice halted him as he tightened the girth on Trader’s saddle.

  “Roman.” She laid a hand on his arm. “May I join you for a ride? Her voice sparkled with merriment. “That is, if you were planning to ride alone.” A gentle beauty lit her smile and from her blue-velvet eyes a special warmth flowed.

  The pearl-gray habit she wore fit like a finely stitched glove. Her fair hair was twisted into a coil that rested on the back of her slender neck. She wore, set to one side, a becoming cap of exactly the same shade of gray as her jacket, and her silk blouse of pale pink was edged with white lace and fetchingly ruffled at the neck.

  “I would be delighted to have you ride with me.” The angry frown left Roman’s face. “Martha, my sweet,” he crooned, “you are as refreshing and pure as the clear water in a brook.” Smiling lightly, he turned away to fasten a strap on the saddle and to slap Trader’s neck gently.

  Martha’s light laughter rang out. “Why, Roman, how complimentary you are, when you haven’t had a moment to spare me in days.” She tapped a finger against her lips. “Your afternoons, I believe, have been devoted to some new diversion of late.” Her brows rose a little. “Will you saddle Cricket for me?”

  “Cricket?” He hesitated. Had he come to think of Cricket as Silvia’s horse? His eyes swung back to Martha. “Would you not prefer to try the new mare?”

  “No,” she said purposefully. “It’s Cricket I want. It was I who trained her to be a lady’s mount, you may recall. I like a ride on her now and then.”

  Roman exhaled his breath loudly. “Then Cricket it shall be,” he said flatly.

  “Roman.�
�� He had opened Cricket’s stall and stepped inside. Martha rested her gloved hands on the door, her pert chin barely reaching over the top. “You asked me this morning if I had seen Silvia. I told you I had not. Perhaps I was wrong, but I didn’t want to upset you,” she purred in a voice as soft as silk. “You seem fond of the girl.”

  His back was turned to her, and she could not see the flinty look in his eyes.

  “I feel an obligation to see that she is entertained. Nothing more.”

  “Then it would not concern you that I saw her in the garden with Morgan a while ago. I believe they were quite intent on each other.” Martha’s voice was innocently cool. “They may still be there if you wish to see her.”

  Roman clenched his fists. Blood rushed through his veins like a swollen river straining at his banks.

  “I have no desire to see Miss Bradstreet.” He deliberately crushed down a memory of Silvia locked in his brother’s arms. “I am grateful to have my time free,” he ground out ruthlessly. “It is, after all, only fair that we share the task of entertaining Miss Bradstreet.”

  Martha smiled and waited primly as Roman tossed the saddle on Cricket’s back and jerked the cinch so tight that the little mare snorted and made a wild kick in his direction.

  “Easy, girl,” he said, loosening the girth a bit and patting her flank. His brow creased with a frown. It was unlike him to let his temper bleed into his treatment of the horses.

  A moment later he led the mare from the stall, and when she was beside Trader, untied the gelding and led both horses from the stable. Outside, he hitched Cricket beside a mounting block and Trader at a post nearby.

  “I’ll need a boost, Roman,” Martha called to him.