Dark Splendor

by Parnell, Andrea

  Silvia’s eyelids fell. Schlange, even at his weakest, wielded his wrath like an angry quirt. Silvia knew from the venomous look in his eyes that she had said enough. But she had one other request, since he had denied her the first.

  “Then allow me to prune the vines and replant the small garden so that the sun can come in. Let me make it a haven for Willy and less a prison. Willy could help me. He would like that.”

  “No!” Vivien stormed. She was on her feet, backbone rigid and her waspish face set in a vicious expression.

  “How can you refuse?” Silvia’s voice quivered and her luminous eyes implored Schlange. She was furious that she had to beg him to attend to the needs of his own son, and furious that Vivien’s jealousy overshadowed Willy’s happiness. It would be good for Willy to do something useful. She herself abhorred the endless afternoons. She had found her fingers could not settle down to do needlework, nor could she concentrate enough on reading to get past the first page in a book.

  It was possible that Willy would develop sufficient skill at gardening to be allowed to attend to other parts of the estate. But that was not to be broached at present. She had learned today that she must proceed slowly if she were to make any progress on Willy’s behalf.

  Schlange leaned back, surveying Silvia with his yellowish eyes. The shrewdness in them never failed to startle her. Silvia pressed her hands to her heart. How could this ill old man strike such sudden terror in her? She watched him silently. But as swiftly as it appeared, the anger went out of his expression and he chuckled with slow relish.

  “You have grown genuinely fond of the boy, haven’t you, my dear?”

  “I care for him.”

  “She interferes,” Vivien said pettishly. “You must put an end to it.”

  Schlange rolled his eyes back and smiled indulgently. His fingers tapped out a slow rhythm on the wooden arm of his chair as he made a clucking noise. Vivien paced the room, her cheeks sucked in so that her face looked more angular and harsh than ever.

  “Enough, Vivien,” he snapped. “You cannot live forever, any more than I. Who will see to the boy when you are gone?” He saw the flash of surprise in Silvia’s eyes as she realized the truth of what he was saying. His cruel gaze impaled Vivien as she too caught his meaning. “Let her learn what must be done. Willy must trust her just as he does you.” Slowly his wrinkled, sallow face turned toward Silvia. “I see no harm in restoring the garden. Proceed with it. Let Willy help.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Silvia’s expression softened a little and the flush began to fade from her cheeks. Had she managed to coax a bit of fatherly feeling from his stony heart? A little seed of hope sprouted within her. One small gain might lead to others.

  Vivien stopped her erratic pacing and stared at Schlange unbelievingly. She audibly drew in her breath, as she whirled to leave the room, gave Silvia such a sharp, hateful glance that she was suddenly, soberly aware that she had made an enemy not to be underestimated.

  Silvia’s doleful eyes went back to Schlange. Abruptly her brows flicked up. She gasped silently as she saw the truth before he voiced it. She had been wrong to think he could care. Wilhelm Schlange hadn’t a particle of tenderness in his heart.

  He spoke in a cold, insolent tone that made it difficult for her not to tremble. “Don’t mistake compliance for softness, my dear. The more you feel for the lad, the more certain I can be you will do what you must to spare him harm.” The gnarled old hands rested in his lap, the cadaverous, bony head jutted forward on his thin neck, and a misty yellow glow shone from his eyes. Silvia felt a shiver of alarm running through her flesh, but some horrible fascination kept her eyes linked to his. “Heed this, my dear.” His voice dropped to a low, menacing tone. “My patience is limited. Do not let many weeks pass before you bring the news I require. Give me my grandson.” He lifted a hand and made a dismissing gesture. “Now, go. Attend to your garden.”

  ***

  “Would you care for tea now?” Martha’s musical voice rose soothingly in the still air of the rose-colored parlor.

  “Yes, a cup of tea is just what’s called for,” Silvia said, surprised at how much better she felt as soon as she had left Wilhelm’s presence. He made her feel as if her mind were coming unhinged. Had it not been for Martha’s friendship these past weeks, she would have found life unbearable. And yet she was also grateful Schlange’s nephews had been largely occupied with business. They had been away a good part of the time, visiting a nearby island. It was their plan to arrange for other planters to use the Schlange cane mills, and much work was required to secure the contracts needed.

  Silvia sighed deeply and took a sip of tea. “How considerate of you to take tea with me each afternoon and to instruct me so thoroughly on the household affairs. I would have been months learning the workings of it all without your help.”

  “Nonsense. It is the least I can do.” Martha sipped her tea slowly. “This has been a trying period for you,” she remarked, shaking her head. “Uncle is undoubtedly a worrisome father-in-law and Willy a difficult spouse.” Her eyes grew wide with a look of concern and understanding. “Poor Willy must have inherited his father’s pride and temperament, or he would surely try to live normally.” Her head tilted slightly to one side. “It is the Schlange curse of stubbornness that makes him want to defy the world because of his infirmities.” Making a little clucking sound, she set her cup aside, her mind obviously concentrating on another topic. “You look tired, Silvia. Aren’t you sleeping well, dear?”

  Silvia hesitated a moment. She couldn’t truthfully say she wasn’t sleeping well. If anything, she slept too well. Recently she had begun napping late in each afternoon. Sleep had become a welcome escape for her and she willingly sought the euphoric peace she found as her mind made the journey from consciousness to slumber. She would whirl gently through tunnels of swirling mists, descending always toward a soft, sunny light that promised happiness. Odd, she couldn’t remember now if she ever reached the light. She remembered, though, that as she floated down, she would be wondrously divested of her burdensome thoughts and troubles.

  She had a bit of that peaceful feeling now as she sipped her tea and talked with Martha. Somewhere, from a cloudy memory recessed in her mind, she recalled other parts of the dream, a peculiar fluttering of the velvet wall hangings and touches soft as dewdrops on her face.

  Absently Silvia studied her reflection in the still dark surface of the tea. She saw the faraway look in her drowsy golden eyes. A lilting sigh sounded from her lips as she remembered faintly the shadows and sounds and the dark figure that appeared silently in her dreams almost every night.

  “Is something wrong?” The smile left Martha’s lips and her probing eyes intently watched Silvia’s face.

  Silvia flinched and raised her head quickly, conscious as she did of a sudden wind outside the window. She had let her mind wander, and the confusion of those memories remained even as she tried to force a smile to her lips. One image from the dream would not free itself from her mind, that of a shadowy shape. She had vividly dreamed of it weeks ago, but until this moment had never remembered it quite so distinctly. She shook her head trying to stir her mind to wakefulness. Dared she tell Martha of her earlier dream?

  “Tell me what has distressed you,” Martha said reassuringly. She watched Silvia curiously; not at all sure she was well. She smiled and gently took the teacup from Silvia’s trembling hands.

  Silvia bit her lip nervously and spoke haltingly. “You said once there were ghosts in the castle,” The briefest flicker of hesitancy sparked in her eyes, but she went on. “I thought you were only relating a colorful legend. Now I wonder if it isn’t true.”

  The wind picked up, blowing in the dark clouds of a summer storm. The room grew dark with the onset of a sudden premature dusk as windows banged and curtains billowed wildly into the room.

  Martha’s hand went quickly to her throat. “Then you’ve seen them?”

  Silvia was startled to see the color leave Marth
a’s face. “No,” she answered hastily. “I haven’t really seen anything, I’ve only sensed someone, something in the darkness.” Rising quickly, she flew to the windows and shut them against the large pelting drops of rain. Silvia turned about, her voice now a whisper. “But when I light a candle and look, no one is there.”

  “One of them has singled you out.” Martha seemed strangely alarmed and laced her fingers together tightly. “If only we knew what he wanted.” She looked grimly at Silvia. “You must be careful until we know if the spirit is charitable.” Her voice faltered and broke. “You must be very careful.”

  “Martha, surely you don’t mean...”

  But Martha had risen hurriedly and was hastily returning the teacups to a tray.

  “I must get these things to the kitchen,” she said breathlessly. “You will excuse me now?”

  “Of course.” Silvia shuddered at the last glimpse of Martha’s pale face. She wouldn’t have thought Martha believed in ghosts. Yet fear had drained the color from her friend’s skin. Ghosts. Hadn’t she herself felt that same tinge of fear in the library and in the solitary blackness of her room? In the ensuing excitement, Silvia had ignored previous disturbance, yet now she remembered them all too keenly.

  With troubled thoughts she returned to the Emerald Suite, thankful Anna had had the foresight to light candles, though even they failed to brighten a room under the dark spell of an afternoon storm. She sat a long while watching jagged flashes of light threaten the soaked earth and listening to the angry rumble of thunder. At last she could bear it no more and went downstairs to wait in the dining room until the dinner hour. But Martha had succumbed to the oppressive mood of the storm and taken one of her violent headaches. The men had gone for supplies early that day and Silvia didn’t expect them back for the evening meal.

  She sat alone. The food on her plate cooled untouched until the savage onslaught of rain ended and the gray clouds parted enough to show the fading glow of sunset. Her appetite was as faint as the last amber rays of evening, but she forced herself to eat enough to maintain her strength. When she had finished, Anna brought a message of apology from Martha and a cup of the special herbal tea.

  “Said she made a pot for ‘erself and there’s plenty for you too.” Anna smiled broadly.

  “It’s quite good, Anna. Do you care for the herbal brew?”

  “Oh, no, madam. It’s good English tea for me. I’ve got no taste for garden leaves.” Anna wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  Silvia smiled politely, then looked away to stare blankly at a candle flame. How odd it was to be going futilely through the motions of normalcy, dining and taking tea as if there were nothing peculiar in her life. Was this the way of it with a person on hangman’s row, pretending until the last minute that nothing was wrong? Or thinking that at the last hour the sentence would be commuted and the horror would end?

  She mustn’t lose hope. There might still be a way to remedy her situation. She must keep her head and pretend all was well until she found a solution. It was important to make Schlange believe she had accepted her fate and would give him no trouble. If no child came, perhaps he would relent of that demand. Even as she thought them, she doubted her wishful dreams. Nevertheless, she would never let go of hope, no matter how dim it might grow in her heart.

  Lost in her thoughts, she had almost forgotten Anna until she looked up to see the woman patiently waiting for her to indicate where she wanted to take tea. Anna held the little tea tray close to her ample breast and looked totally flabbergasted that Silvia’s attention had oddly wandered.

  For a moment Silvia was undecided, but at last the loneliness she felt drove her to seek what company she could, even if it were the statues of stone.

  “I’ll take it in the library, Anna. I’m not ready to go up to bed just yet.” Silvia rose, glad to be leaving the monotonous quiet and the mocking empty chairs at the long expanse of table. A forlorn look marred her lovely features. Behind her the windows rattled obstinately in their wooden frames. A strong wind off the ocean had persisted even after the rain ended. Now and then a powerful gust whipped through the courtyard, voicing a dull, lamenting roar as it met the castle walls.

  Sighing listlessly, Silvia followed Anna’s generous form down the hallway. She felt a shiver of premonition that the figures, sympathizing with her plight, were beckoning her to come. And feeling dejected, she knew the marble statues would be the only company she would have on this dreary night. It was just as well. A strange restlessness had come over her and she simply couldn’t face going to her room right away. Though why she should feel compelled to spend the evening in the library puzzled her. It was a place as disquieting as her own chambers. But at least, she consoled herself, in the library the ghosts were visible stone statues and not the hollow dark dreams that disturbed her sleep.

  When Anna was gone, her eyes swept over the shelves of books until she found one that interested her. Once she had made her selection, she settled in a comfortable chair, opened the cover, and began to read, pausing occasionally to sip her tea.

  She found the tea warmly soothing and far more relaxing than her usual cup. Within a few moments of drinking it her head nodded sleepily and dropped to one side. The book she intended reading slipped from her hands and fell to the floor with a loud thump as it hit the carpet. The sound of it was like a signal that started the haunting dark dreams. A smile stole onto her lips as she felt herself sinking pleasantly into a misty tunnel. In her mind the world changed from black to green, covered over by rippling moss that moved in a lifelike wave. Her eyes blinked, opening and closing several times until a light gust of wind woke her with its shivering touch.

  The candles were quickly snuffed out by a cool breath of wind. Only the one beside her remained burning. The air hitting her face felt damp like the familiar fogs back home.

  Moaning softly, she tried to think clearly, but her muddled thought were dull and lethargic. A fear always lodged deep inside her stirred. She attempted to keep her eyelids open and found the effort halfhearted at best. The room and its objects were a hapless, spinning blur. She was only dimly conscious of the figure stepping from the line of statues and moving slowly in her direction. She could see lips moving where a face should be, but the words they uttered drifted around like falling leaves before reaching her ears.

  “It seems the evenings spur you with a fit of wanderlust.”

  In a mind grown suddenly vacant, she had one splintering thought. What Martha had told her was true. On troubled nights, spirits moved about in the castle, seeking out those who would disturb the tenuous peace of Serpent Tree Hall. This one she knew from the slope of his shoulders and the bold set of his chin.

  “Siegfried.” She drew out his name, her voice slurred and sleep-laden.

  “Siegfried?” He laughed scornfully, whirling to snatch the cape and swing it boldly about his shoulders.

  Silvia drew a hurried breath as a bright flash of purple drifted over her head. Siegfried had come to life and stood within her reach, but she could not bring herself to stretch out a hand to him. Instead she used all her strength to force her eyes to stay open and to fight the quivering in her abdomen.

  “Have you found me here as well?” A voice from inside her head was answering the one from the darkness. She saw above her a taunting ghostly shape like the one that stole into her dreams. “Is there no place I can escape you?” she murmured. “Is there no place I can rest undisturbed?” An aura of gold ringed his head, and blinking, she strained to see the features in the stony face, but found it impossible to focus her eyes.

  He cocked his head to one side.

  “Must I be plagued by a spirit?” she cried. Her head lolled back weakly against the chair. “It is not I who have brought discontent to this house.” Her voice rambled on. “Must you pursue me as you do that rogue Aurelius?” She tried to lift her head, and failing, tried to swallow an uncomfortable tightening that had started in her throat as she flung her head from side to side. Why didn
’t he answer? “You must see I take no willing part in what is done. You must believe it is not my choice.” Feebly she touched a hand to her heart. “I was deceived. If I am guilty, it is only of losing my heart to one whom I can never freely tell of my feelings.”

  He stood above her, legs spread in a wide-legged stance, arms crossed over a broad chest.

  “What new game is this you contrive, Silvia Schlange? Would you persuade me you are a helpless damsel in need of a champion?”

  She moaned lightly, her lips feeling thick and lazy, her speech coming with difficulty. “It is no game. I merely play the part I am forced to play. I think not even a supernatural champion could free me of my bonds.” She sighed. “Though I wish with all my heart so simple a solution could be found.”

  “You deem yourself wronged?”

  She glanced up, trying to see through the gelatinous fog in her brain. “I have been so wronged that even the ghost of Siegfried himself cannot aid me.” A soft moan slipped from her lips. “I am ruled by a dark power the gods of old could not confront.” Heavy lids fluttered, then closed tightly. “I am lost.”

  “Lost or seeking?” He bent low so that his lips brushed maddeningly against hers as he spoke. That slight sweet touch filled her with longing to feel his mouth fully against her own, but he quickly drew back.

  Shivering, she rallied her voice to answer. “I seek only to be free of a bondage greater than any woman should bear. My sleep is plagued by spirits and my waking hours by hideous threats.”

  A flash of lightning lit the room for a fiery instant. She could see an angry scowl on the chiseled features of his face, and it seemed to her distorted vision that his countenance bore the same deadly glow as the jagged bolt that rent the darkened sky. She cringed, and fear rose up in her breast when a distant crash of thunder shook the heavens.