Silvia felt his pretense of concern for her welfare was for his uncle’s benefit, an effort to keep peace in the house.
He proved her right with his next comment.
“Wilhelm too must be pleased.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “He has expressed his pleasure.” More than that, she thought to herself. He has gloated.
“You must give more thought to your condition,” he added matter-of-factly, rising from the chair and hastily replacing it across the room. “I recommend you limit your exercise to walks in the garden until the baby comes.”
“Yes, I’ll do that.” Her eyes followed him across the room. What irony that they were having a subdued, civil discussion when they had exchanged heated words only a short time ago.
Silvia wondered if he was slyly trying to ensure his own inheritance, for he knew it would threaten his position to continue his cruel treatment of her. Her thoughts were unkind, but so was Roman’s behavior lately. She meant nothing to him except that as Willy’s wife, she might someday be in control of the Schlange empire.
Oddly it was the first time she had fully realized that possibility. If Wilhelm died and his will was as he had told her, her child would inherit the majority of the estate. But until the child came of age, she would be in a position of power over them all.
“You will be careful,” he said again.
Silvia pressed her lips tightly together and nodded. She found herself unable to feel any joy at his kindly advice. Really, she preferred his caustic honesty to this pretentious concern. There was, her mind rambled on sadly, only one person here who cared for and adored her. Poor, dumb Willy.
“Roman.” She gave him a cool glance. “I’d like it kept secret awhile longer. About the baby, I mean.”
“As you wish.” He smiled lightly. “I’ll leave the broadcasting of that news to you. And,” he added, pausing with his arms crossed over his chest, “I’ll not keep you from your rest any longer. Good night.”
When he was gone, she touched her feet to the floor and tiptoed to the door to shut and lock it. It would be wise to keep her secret as long as possible, lest she become the object of carping, insincere attention from them all. Outside she saw Roman stop as he met Morgan in the hall. Would he do as she asked and keep her secret?
She waited a moment to hear what would be said. “Another assignation, brother?” Morgan smiled. “How is Cousin Silvia?
“What concern is it of yours?”
“What concern? Get a grip on that black temper of yours, man. The girl was hurt.”
“She’s resting now. See her tomorrow.”
“I’ll stay only a minute. Just wanted to tell her I’m glad the fall was no worse.” Morgan started by his brother but got no more than a step when Roman grasped him by the arm and spun him back.
“Stay away from her.” Roman’s voice was a low, menacing growl.
“Why?” Morgan pulled his arm loose and frowned gruffly.
“Forget why,” Roman said coldly. “For your own good, stay away from her.”
The way Roman had turned, she could see the grim, angry lines of his face. She was right. He felt no differently about her. He still thought her no more than a scheming fortune hunter. And he was warning Morgan not to befriend her.
Silvia eased her door shut. Morgan had apparently listened to his brother, for he did not stop at her room. Would they have gone off somewhere to discuss what must be done to prevent their inheritance being lost? Let them have it! Let them have it all. She didn’t want it. She wanted nothing but happiness—and happiness, it seemed, was the one thing she was destined to be denied.
Discarding her wrapper and nightgown, she hurried to the armoire and took out a dark gray gown and quickly slipped it on. Moving quietly, she sat at the dressing table and brushed her hair over her shoulder, then threaded it into one thick black braid. She slipped the wrapper over her dress in case Anna or Vivien should come in.
Her head ached again, dully. She poured a steaming cup of tea, thinking it would relax her while she waited for everyone to go to bed. Tonight she would begin searching the castle until she found the hiding place for Schlange’s journal. Odin had been gone a long time the day he took it away, which indicated the cache might be on the ground floor, possibly in Schlange’s library, where he did most of his work when he was not ill.
She would search secretly and she would find the journal if it took weeks or even months. And when she did, she would prove to Roman and to everyone at the castle that she had come here believing she was a bond servant. That she had never expected to be mistress of Serpent Tree Hall. That she didn’t want the money or the land or the ships. She only wanted to leave and never see any of them again. She would take her child and go. They wouldn’t stop her once the truth was known. Not even Wilhelm could stop her then.
***
“My baby!” She woke crying out and striking at the people in her dream, who were trying to take the child from her arms. As she slowly awoke she remembered her plan. What time was it? She hadn’t meant to sleep. The candle had gone out and she lit it with fumbling, shaking hands. The teapot and cup were gone. Vivien or Anna had come back and taken them without waking her.
She was groggy, barely able to find her way to the bedroom without stumbling against the furniture. The wavering flame lit the face of the little enamel clock. It was past two. She had slept for hours without meaning to. It was late but the time would be right to start her search.
Minutes later, she had felt her way down the dark marble staircase, pausing once or twice when she imagined she heard soft footsteps behind her. By the time she reached the library, her head spun dizzily and her eyes distortedly searched the room. Still she would not give up her quest. Moving stealthily, she lit candles but even then, to her addled brain, the room seemed dim and dark with great looming shadows.
Not to be deterred, she explored the bookcases first, running her hands over the panels and shelves and finding nothing. Disappointed, she made a desperate little sound in the darkness and shivered as she heard a shuffling noise behind her. Turning, she saw one shadow come alive and step apart from the statues.
“Have you joined the spirits in their nightly escapades?” The purple-swathed shadow floated from against the wall. In the candlelight it grew solid and stretched taller.
Silvia’s hands flew over her mouth. It was the same shadow she had seen once before in the library.
“I was looking...” she whispered hollowly.
“For me?” The phantom voice came softly from his hooded face. “Or for secrets?”
“Nooo,” she moaned, feeling her legs turn pulpy as she knew suddenly and surely that her ghost was real. “For the journal,” she answered woodenly. “If I can find the journal they will believe me.”
He floated past her and she whirled to follow his flight. “Who does not believe you?”
“Roman. None of them. They think I want to steal their inheritance.” She sobbed. “When all I want is to leave this horrible place.”
“And what prevents your leaving?”
“Wilhelm. He won’t let me.” She was trembling, hardly able to stand, and her head ached as if it would split. She barely knew what she was saying. A murkiness enveloped her thoughts and at times she didn’t even realize she actually spoke them. “What would happen to Willy if I left? Oh, no.” She sobbed again. “I can never leave.”
He seemed to lift in the air and then he was beside her. He enfolded her in the purple cloak, pulling her head to his chest and soothing her with warm, comforting whispers.
For a moment she wondered if her fall from the horse had weakened her brain. This ghost made no fiendish threats, and strangely, she felt solaced and safe cosseted in his arms. It was as if he above all others in this house meant her no harm or malice. Here at last was a friend whom she could trust. Only she felt so light-headed and weak, it was as if her blood had been drained from her veins.
Then suddenly she went limp and it was her conscio
usness that drained away. She would have slumped to the floor had she not been held in his arms.
***
“Get dressed. It’s happened. He’s dead.” There was a frenzied, slightly mad look to Vivien as she burst into Silvia’s bedroom. Her hair, for once, was untidy and her long face was pale.
“Dead? Who?” Silvia fought with the covers, not waking fully and thinking herself still swathed in the dark, ghostly folds of Siegfried’s cloak. The ghost she had seen last night must have been Siegfried, for who else could it have been? Who else would have carried her back to her bedroom? Or had she truly never left? Could she have possibly dreamt the whole incident? She must have.
In the center of her room Vivien waited, looking pallid and strained. “Do get up quickly,” she said in a thin, empty voice. “Mr. Schlange has died.”
Silvia thrust the covers to the foot of the bed and sprang to her feet. The silk curtains at the windows swayed in and out with a warm morning breeze. But she rubbed her arms and shivered as a strange chill came from nowhere and wrapped her in its invisible currents.
“I’ll be dressed in a moment.” Silvia found her wrapper and slipped it on over her blue silk gown, her hands freezing on the ties. Suddenly she remembered that she had worn the silk wrapper hiding the gray dress last night.
Her lower lip dropped and quivered a little. The gray dress lay crumpled on the floor beside her bed, and as she stared at it, she absently brushed her fingers over the lacy collar of the nightgown she wore. She forgot for a moment that Vivien was in the room as she realized it was no longer possible to tell where her dreams ended and reality began.
“He faded away in his sleep.”
“Oh,” she murmured, coming out of her trance and turning to find Vivien staring critically at her.
“Odin found him so this morning.”
Could he really be dead? She had expected the old man to linger forever.
“Mr. Schlange seemed stronger when I last spoke with him.”
“He forced himself to be better in order to see you.” Vivien looked up sharply. “The old fool. He wouldn’t have you know how weak and ill he was.” She breathed deeply and dropped her eyes. “Yet I think he would not have lasted so long had you not been here. Mr. Schlange fed on the desire to have a grandson before he died. It kept him alive.”
But in the end it had not kept him alive long enough. “I’ll hurry.” Silvia sighed and started to the dressing room.
“No. Wait.” Vivien waved a negligent hand at her. “Yes?” Silvia stopped obediently but her fingers kept moving, making bows of the ribbons that tied her wrapper.
“There must be a hundred things to do. Have the others been told?”
“They know. The preparations have begun.” Vivien looked pointedly at Silvia. “I advise you to wait before you tell them about the child.”
“He told you?”
“Yes. And be advised that one blow is enough for now. Give them time to grieve for their uncle before they learn they would do better to curse his black soul.” The color had returned to Vivien’s face and she regained the aloofness in her voice. “Mr. Schlange knew he had little time, even though he would have us believe otherwise. He prepared for his death. His instructions will be carefully followed.”
“What do you mean, Vivien?” Silvia’s voice was hard. “Who would care now that there is to be a child, or if I were to stay or go? What is to keep me here now that Schlange is dead? You will care for Willy as you always have. He is safe enough with his father dead.” Vivien listened unmoved, and Silvia daringly went on. “You must know of the threats his father made against him. Surely you can see the danger died with him. Willy is safe and I am free to leave.”
Vivien laughed an eerie, reproachful laugh. Silvia shuddered to see that her eyes had become two hot, blazing black suns.
“How foolish you are,” she said piteously. “Do you think Wilhelm Schlange would let death weaken his grasp? He has found a way to hold you from the grave.” She laughed again. “All our lives rest on your staying and bearing the child you carry. Who knows whom he has bribed or enlisted to obey him even in death? Don’t you realize?” she said in her wintry voice. “Nothing has changed.”
Chapter 13
Black bunting draped the mantels in the front drawing room, where the doors had been left standing open. It was a hot, airless day and, inside the castle, too muggy and quiet. Even the pink marble of the foyer had lost its cheerful brightness. Silvia in her gown of heavy black silk felt as lifeless as the two depressing funeral wreaths which had been hung outside on the front doors.
The atmosphere of the house itself had turned exceedingly dismal in the frenzied period of mourning. Wilhelm Schlange’s death had been a shock to everyone, even though he had been recently ill. Like Silvia, all had believed he would even outlive many of them. Indeed it had caught the family by surprise, and preparations for the burial had to be made hastily. After some searching through Schlange’s papers and much consulting among the nephews, it had been determined that the will could not be read until Mr. Schlange’s lawyer arrived from a northern colony.
Silvia had never imagined the event could make her feel more isolated and alone than before. But it seemed, as she sat quietly and deliberated on the matter, that her life was shattered and ruined beyond mending.
She was so far away in thoughts of despair that she didn’t hear Vivien come up behind her in the drawing room.
“The minister has arrived.” Vivien, the thin lips ashen in her long face, shook Silvia’s shoulder.
Reluctantly Silvia stirred from her chair.
“Show him in, please.”
It had been left to her to greet the Reverend Samuels, who had come from Fredericksburg, for Martha was too distraught and was now resting. Business and the gathering of crops would not wait for funeral plans to be completed, and the nephews had been called out to attend to the urgencies of the estate. No one among them doubted that Wilhelm Schlange himself would despair if one working day were lost in the smooth running of Schlange Island.
Later in the evening, Eric would finalize the burial plans with the minister. But as a matter of courtesy, Silvia had volunteered to meet the man when he arrived.
Hands clasped tightly together, she stood solemnly by the mantel.
“Silvia, child,” he addressed her as Vivien showed him in. Samuels was a short, plain-faced man with faded gray eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. He bore a surprisingly merry smile for a somber occasion. At Eric’s request he had traveled by boat from Fredericksburg on the next island and would stay at Serpent Tree Hall until the service was performed. “You are all Mr. Schlange said you would be.” Samuels clasped her hand ecstatically.
“He told you about me?”
“Ah, yes. Mr. Schlange wrote months ago telling me of Willy’s upcoming marriage and how hopeful he was for a grandson. Said as how it wasn’t possible for me to perform the wedding, he hoped I’d agreed to do the christening of his first grandchild.” Reverend Samuels took the chair beside Silvia and directed a shrewd glance her way. “A grandchild was most important to him, you know.” Samuels shook his head thoughtfully. “A terrible shame he couldn’t have lasted long enough to see the dream realized,” he added with a note of remorse. “And double the shame that this sad event should occur so soon after your marriage.” Silvia felt an uneasiness growing inside her those gray eyes had a way of probing. “We have lost a fine man,” he added.
“His death was...” She paused abruptly and looked into Reverend Samuels’ kindly face. Was he too a pawn in one of Wilhelm Schlange’s evil plans? There was no way to know, and as a matter of caution her words must be chosen carefully. “...an untimely tragedy,” she continued. “And most unexpected, despite his illness.”
She regarded Samuels gravely. She had thought to appeal to the soft-spoken clergyman for assistance. He was the first person she had met who could possibly help her leave Schlange Island. But it seemed what Vivien had told her was tru
e. Schlange’s plans reached beyond the grave, for she had no way of determining who was friend and who was foe. She remembered the seemingly affable Captain Langham, who would have made her available to the Tollers on board the Eastwind.
Any request for help might lead to disastrous complications in an already insufferable problem. Again she had to conclude that for the present she must stay at Serpent Tree Hall and try to make her life and Willy’s as bearable as possible.
“You must be brave, child.” Reverend Samuels took her hand once more and patted it consolingly. “The future of this family rests with you.”
Was that a warning she had best do as Schlange had dictated?
Silvia couldn’t have told what was said in much of the conversation that followed with the clergyman. She only remembered thinking how astonishing it was that Wilhelm Schlange had consorted with this religious man. The fact was totally incongruous to her, but Reverend Samuels indicated Mr. Schlange had visited his home in Fredericksburg frequently over the years. And on one of those more recent occasions Schlange had outlined his funeral plans.
“A remarkable man, Mr. Schlange. He was not well these last few years. But like many stubborn and powerful men, Wilhelm was late to see the inevitability of death. It has been less than a year since he visited me and talked of dying. I believe he had expected to live forever. There are some who do.” Samuels clucked and then smiled warmly. “There is little for you to worry over, child. Eric has seen to most of the funeral plans and I will attend to the others.” He removed his spectacles and tucked them into a pocket with one hand while he rubbed his eyes with the other. “Now, child, if you can accommodate me, I would like to rest in my room before I make the final preparations.”
“Thank you for coming so promptly, Reverend Samuels.” Silvia smiled faintly, but even so, her hands gripped the arms of the chair as if some strange force might try to pull her from it. “Your presence will ease the strain for us all,” she said meekly.
Dark Splendor Page 23