There was a new gentleness in his touch as he gripped Martha’s waist and swung her around. She felt it and responded, laughing merrily as her skirt flew out like the silver wings of a summer butterfly.
“A boost. Not a flight to the moon,” she said breathlessly when he set her down. A delighted sparkle shone in her eyes and gaiety sounded in her voice.
Roman’s hands rested lightly on Martha’s trim waist. He smiled, seeing the happiness in her face. Slowly he leaned down and kissed her cheek.
“Why, Roman,” she whispered, lifting her lips to his. “One of your rare kisses? And you’ve not even been away for months.”
He laughed. “It’s you who are the rarity, love.” A smile broadened on his face. “Honest and beautiful, the kind of woman who would make a wonderful wife.” He sighed and his lids lowered over clouded eyes. “‘Tis a shame all women cannot be so.”
Martha touched his cheek, lightly stroking it with her fingers. A moment later he had lifted her to the saddle and had bounded astride Trader.
***
Silvia kept to herself for the next two days. Pretending to be ill, she spent most of the time alone in her rooms. She did feel a kind of exhaustion, a deep weariness that drained her strength and which no amount of sleep would relieve. She went out only when she was certain she would not encounter anyone in the house or on the grounds.
In time, the entire episode came to be like a bad dream and she might have persuaded herself it had never happened if Schlange’s health had not taken a turn for the better.
Her spirits had actually begun to improve. She was even able to face herself in the mirror without dissolving into tears by the third day. On that morning she called for Anna to help her dress. For the first time since her visit to Schlange’s rooms she was mindful of which gown she chose.
Outside, a rippling breeze stirred and birds filled the air with sweet melodies as she sat at the window. Breathing deeply, Silvia forced herself to think coolly and logically. She couldn’t shut herself away forever or hope to find a way to escape her fate if she simply shut her door on the world. Just the briefest flicker of determination showed in her eyes. She made up her mind that she would go downstairs for lunch. It was important that she sound out everyone and determine if she could count on anyone to aid her. If not the family, possibly one of the servants could be of help.
She shuddered, remembering the ominous manservant Odin and wondering if he kept a watch on the house, though it seemed no one was paying any mind to her the last few days. No one had inquired of her health, and that only served to strengthen her suspicions about Schlange’s hold on the family.
Only Vivien had stopped by her room each day, and being satisfied she was simply frightened from her encounter with Schlange, was content to leave her to herself. As it turned out, Silvia’s newfound courage came too late. Vivien visited her room an hour before lunch, and when she left later, Silvia was too upset to see anyone.
“Mr. Schlange is much improved and will announce the marriage at dinner this evening as planned. He has arranged a special celebration. The others are prepared for a surprise. It is all according to his plan.”
Silvia’s shoulders drooped and all her brooded-over doubts of the past days returned.
“Must it be so soon?”
Vivien’s face darkened menacingly.
“He may have little time left. It is essential it be done while he has the strength to attend to the matter himself.”
Silvia swallowed hard. “And what is my part in this evening other than to be on display?”
Vivien’s brows lifted sharply. “That is precisely your part. To be on display. To be charming. To present yourself as a lonely bride who longs for more male attention than her husband can give.”
“Will that not look ludicrous when I am on my husband’s arm?”
“Your husband will not be in attendance. Willy never sees his cousins. Not since the accident. Mr. Schlange realized the boy’s condition and has kept it secret all these years. They have grown accustomed to what they believe are Willy’s eccentricities. He communicates by letters, letters I have written at Mr. Schlange’s direction.”
“Then they do not know of his mental state or his disfigurement?”
“They believe he has chosen to live his life as a recluse due to bouts of ill health and because he suffers depression since his mother’s death. No one knows the boy’s true state, save the three of us. From the letters he has written, they think he is a learned and philosophical man who is cursed with poor health. No one speaks of him, out of respect to Wilhelm. They all believe their uncle has been deeply saddened by his son’s withdrawal from society. His nephews have each tried to be a more real son to Wilhelm; Martha has tried to become the woman Magda was when Wilhelm married her.”
It was then that Silvia realized the depth of the cousins’ devotion to their uncle, and her despair grew as she knew she could count on no one. Yet the memory of Willy’s vacant eyes and pitiable crushed face plunged her into the deepest despair, for it was he who had been wronged most severely. Why could Schlange not see the dreadful mistake he was making? Once again she forgot her own unhappiness as her heart went out to Willy.
She looked accusingly to Vivien. “It is scandalous that he should have been shut away from people and hidden like a madman. I cannot believe a father could treat his son so.”
Vivien glowered at her reproachfully.
“Mr. Schlange has done what he thought best for the boy. Had people known or seen him, they would not have been kind. As it is, he has been shielded from the harshness of life.”
“Willy has had no life.” Silvia’s voice filled with anguish. “He has been kept like a caged animal. Surely, Vivien, you cannot approve of his treatment or of what Schlange proposes to do.” Her pride vanished and she pleaded. “You could help me get away, to end this madness!”
“No! And I warn you not to think of defying Mr. Schlange. The consequences would end us all. You, the boy, all of us.” Her face grew grim and her eyes cold as ice. “You will do precisely as I instruct you.”
Silvia sank weakly to the bed. She had no allies. Willy’s life rested in her feeble hands, and she felt obligated to preserve that precious gift at any cost.
A tortured dullness showed in her eyes as they followed Vivien’s movements. Shortly the hawkish woman was beside the bed spreading out a cream satin gown for Silvia to see. It was the one dress she thought Schlange had been mistaken in ordering for her. The style was plain and the color totally unremarkable on her.
She wondered why, if she were to practice seduction, Vivien would choose such a simple gown. The rounded neckline dipped modestly low, the bodice molded to her figure but was without ornament or decoration. The skirt, though full and softly gathered, was cut in a simple line, and it too was without adornment. The long sleeves puffed slightly at the shoulders and tapered to long points at the wrists.
Vivien read the questions in her eyes. “This is the gown Mr. Schlange wishes you to wear for the celebration,” she announced. “I will instruct Anna how to arrange your hair. You are to wait in your room until you are sent for.” She paused to make her point. He wishes you to make an entrance, to dazzle.”
Silvia sneered. “I hardly see how he expects me to behave normally or have a civil reception. They will think me a fool for having kept the marriage a secret.”
“They will think nothing amiss. They have been prepared for a surprise, as have the servants. It will seem natural to them that he waited until he himself was well enough to present you as Willy’s bride. They are accustomed to his ways.” Vivien paused thoughtfully. Her voice lowered. “I warn you, though. They may not be pleased that Willy has married.”
“I should think his cousins would rejoice that he has found a companion, since they are not to know the marriage is a charade.”
“You are naive. They know Willy is not capable of heading an empire. They anticipate that at Mr. Schlange’s death the power and wealth of
the Schlange estate will pass into their waiting hands.” She cackled, her eyes gleaming like black beads. “Can you see the irony of it? He is a cunning old devil and knows his nephews well. They aid him willingly while he uses them to his own ends. And now one of them will father the child who will take the scepter from their hands.” She cackled again, louder. “I have never known one of his schemes to fail.”
This one would, Silvia thought defiantly, feeling a tightness in the back of her neck. No man had the right to manipulate lives as Schlange planned to do. She would beat him somehow. She would find a way to protect Willy, but she would not succumb to Schlange’s will. She would let him think he was getting his way. It would give her time to conceive a plan for escape.
For most of the endless afternoon, Silvia sat in a comfortable chair, her eyes closed, her mind ravaged by mounting doubts and fear. When Anna came to help her dress, the usually gregarious girl was tight-lipped, her face peaked and red, showing the strain of her imposed silence. Silvia did not try to begin a conversation. She knew warnings had been passed to Anna to keep quiet. And now, as Silvia moved leadenly through the motions of getting dressed, in spite of her resolution to defy Schlange, a paleness stole into her cheeks and a deep tremor started in her chest.
Her eyes were closed as Anna brushed and twisted her hair, piling it in sleek, twisted coils high on her head. When she looked at her reflection, she was surprised at the elegant but simple coiffure. Again she wondered at Schlange’s purpose. It was hardly the style to turn a man’s head.
Anna laced her into the cream satin gown and took her leave once her work was done. Alone again, Silvia ran her hands over the rich fabric. The cloth was smooth as glass and the dress a lovely fit. Yet when she looked into the mirror, she saw a woman who looked colorless and washed-out. Cream satin was for a wallflower, not for a femme fatale as Schlange had demanded she be.
Silvia slumped to the stool at the dressing table. Powders and perfumes held no interest for her for this was a night she hoped would soon be ended. A flurry of fears and uncertainties assailed her as she rested her face in her hands, wondering if she dared refuse to go down. When a knock sounded at the door, a startled gasp issued from her lips.
“Come in, Vivien,” she said weakly.
Vivien entered, looking like a gaunt witch dressed completely in black. Her little eyes narrowed contemptuously as she stared at Silvia’s pale face.
“You look a fright,” she said coldly. “It won’t do. There must be color in your cheeks.” Rifling through the drawers, Vivien found and opened a crystal jar of rouge. She applied it to Silvia’s cheeks, and when she was done, stepped back to view the results. “Yes,” she murmured, recapping the jar. “That is better. You must be perfect. Tonight you must be perfect.”
Silvia’s lids came down swiftly over her eyes. The time had come. She started to stand, but Vivien placed a restraining hand on her shoulder.
“Wait.” Vivien reached deep in her pocket and withdrew a large black jewel case. The leather-bound box was scrolled in gold and bore the Schlange crest on top. “You must wear this.” She maintained a stern expression as she opened the case and reverently lifted out an emerald necklace, carefully placing it around Silvia’s neck.
Silvia’s voice was suddenly absent and her heartbeat quickened. The piece was breathtaking. Vivien fastened the catch and stepped back. Two golden serpents circled Silvia’s neck, their backs set with hundreds of tiny, sparkling emeralds. The heads intertwined in front to form the setting for an emerald as large as a robin’s egg. The stone was a deep, fiery green and had transformed her colorless gown to pale gold. She suddenly knew the reason for her simple attire, for nothing could compete with the magnificence of the necklace.
Silvia rose slowly, feeling as if the stone had drawn her into a strange, misty dream. Her lips parted softly as she stood staring at her image, mesmerized by the brilliance and beauty of it.
“It is the Cerastes Stone, named for the serpent and given to each new mistress of Serpent Tree Hall.” Vivien’s voice was a low whisper. “Once worn, it is said to make the wearer fertile and desirable, to assure a child within a year.” Vivien, too, seemed to be under the magical spell of the emerald. She spoke so softly Silvia barely heard her next words, but she did not fail to note the haunting sadness in Vivien’s face. “My Magda called it the serpent’s tears. She said the stone was cursed. And indeed it brought her endless sorrow.” With a shrug of her shoulders, Vivien’s voice faded away.
Silvia shivered and her fingers trembled as she touched the stone. A serpent’s tears should feel cool, but the emerald seemed to have a heat that warmed her skin. When she peered in the mirror, her face had taken on a glow, as if it were lit by the fire of the Cerastes Stone.
Chapter 9
“Welcome, my dear.” The dining room was filled with flowers, the air unbelievably rich with their potent perfume. Silvia thought at once Schlange had filled it with symbols of life to mask his own frail mortality. Indeed he had succeeded to a degree, for he looked much more alive and animated than she remembered.
Schlange waited at the doorway for her. He stood, aided by a wooden cane and the strong arm of Odin, who towered behind him like an obsidian pillar set there as a reminder of the power wielded by a wizened old man.
Her lips quivered. There seemed no suitable reply. The ever-present fear and dread stirred inside her again as she paused for a moment at his side. Vaguely she was conscious of Schlange reaching out to take her hand and of him weakly looping her arm in his. The cold press of his fingers had a numbing effect on her skin, and as he guided her along, her blood seemed to turn cold and thick in her veins. She could see other faces far across the room, but they were blurred by the mistiness in her eyes.
“You do justice to the stone, as I knew you would.” He laughed faintly. With that he was pulling her along toward his place at the head of the long table. They crossed the floor, a strange threesome, Schlange like a macerated sorcerer flanked by a black giant on one side and a sad, captive princess on the other.
Silvia was grateful for the merciful blankness of her mind and the dulling of her senses. She only faintly heard a scraping of wood as chairs drew back, a clicking of heels as the three men stood, and a rustling of silk as Martha also rose. For a moment she was almost overcome by the absurdity of what was taking place. As she walked beside Schlange, she could feel all their eyes staring at her like sparks thrown from a raging fire. All at once, her strength lagged and she fervently wished she could disappear into the flashing shadows cast by tall tapers set in candelabra at either end of the table and in golden wall sconces around the room.
Instead she lifted her chin proudly and straightened her shoulders as Schlange halted his odd procession. He meant his announcement to be ceremonious and he had brought her in like a trophy on display.
There were no whispers, merely four blank faces and eyes intently drawn to her. She saw Martha’s eyes widen and a flare of color stain her cheeks and throat. Martha’s gaze was fixed on the Cerastes Stone. Silvia could almost feel the stone pulsing at her throat as the emerald caught the movement of candlelight from the tapers. The stone, like a living thing, spread an aura of mystical green light from its virescent, depths. Roman too saw the necklace and quickly looked up, meeting her gaze.
She saw the question, the accusation in his eyes. He knew the meaning of the Cerastes Stone and it was like a lash to his bared flesh. A moment later his expression was one of anger and loathing and his eyes were no longer fixed on her face. Silvia’s hands trembled as she clasped them tightly together, and then she too quickly looked away, turning her attention frantically to the others.
Surprise registered with Morgan and Eric, evident by a flick of the eyelids and for Morgan a slight parting of the lips. It was he who first acknowledged her status with a slow, spreading smile. Eric merely continued to stare frankly, but more in astonishment than rudeness.
Stunned, Martha nudged her brother and hissed, “The necklace
. She’s wearing the Cerastes.”
Eric silenced Martha with a sharp glance and turned politely to his uncle. His voice came, controlled and tolerant. “Uncle, you promised a surprise. Instead you have delivered a revelation. Are you about to tell us you have taken a bride?”
Silvia’s skin felt dry and papery, as if the heated flush rushing to her face might burn it to cinders. Beneath her discomfort she was conscious of the seething rage in Roman’s eyes, the curiosity in Morgan’s, and the thinly disguised viciousness in Martha’s pale orbs. Schlange tightened his grip on her arm and shook with the sound of a feeble laugh.
“No, Eric.” He stood erect, bold, summoning the hidden vestige of strength from deep in his enfeebled body. Briefly his carriage changed, energy flowed through his veins and lit his face with a vigorous glow. “Though you are not far from the truth.” He drew Silvia forward a step, never loosening his clawlike grip on her elbow. “Raise your glasses!” he commanded.
They obeyed, lifting their stemmed crystal goblets high in the air. The glasses were like prisms filled with golden wine, catching the light, throwing a pattern of colored beams over the table, beams that heralded the dreaded announcement. Silvia’s head spun like a top; she felt as if there were ice inside her skin. Had it not been for Schlange’s grasp on her arm and Odin’s threatening presence behind her, she would have run from the room. Perhaps into the woods, perhaps into the ocean, preferring a cold, wet grave to what was to come.
Schlange’s mouth curved into a salient smile. His voice came low and solicitously. “You must pardon my secrecy. My illness was not a matter I had counted on, and I would have this done no other way.”
“Then do not bait us any longer, Uncle. Out with it.” If there was an unnatural sound to Morgan’s voice, it was slight. He held his glass forward, his eyes vividly curious.
“As you wish,” Schlange responded emphatically. “I bid you toast the new mistress of Serpent Tree Hall, Silvia Bradstreet Schlange. The wife of my son.”
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