“It is little enough to do,” he responded, eyeing her soberly. “Mr. Schlange was not a man of strong religious conviction. He never attended my church, nor any other, to my knowledge. But nevertheless, his contributions were generous and he asked that I be the one to lay him to rest.” Samuels pulled his lips tightly together for an instant. “I would prefer to have been summoned for the christening,” he added wearily, rising.
Silvia got to her feet at the same time. “You are very kind and surely tired from your trip. I’ll have Anna show you to your room.” She hurried away to find the maid, her own spirits falling rapidly. Since meeting Samuels, she felt more apprehensive than ever.
A room was made ready for Reverend Samuels, and when he went up to rest from his journey, Silvia returned to the front drawing room and found that Martha had come down to receive the few visitors who came to express their condolences.
Martha greeted Silvia with a plaintive smile. “I’m glad you’re here.” Her face was drawn and pale as she took Silvia’s hand and pressed it in her cold, trembling palms. “We can comfort one another.”
Silvia hugged Martha’s shoulders and took a place beside her.
“So many people I don’t know,” she whispered as Martha introduced her to the overseers and other gentlemen who presented themselves.
Word of Schlange’s passing had traveled quickly through the area, and those who had the means to travel streamed in to pay their respects. Secretly Silvia wondered if many of them, business associates in particular, had not come to assure themselves the sly old man was really dead. She felt no dismay for her uncharitable thoughts. If Schlange dealt with all as he had with her, many would rejoice at his passing.
Nevertheless, she went through the motions of formality expected of the mistress of Serpent Tree Hall. When at last all the visitors had come and gone, both she and Martha were exhausted, and Martha, showing the signs of her fatigue, excused herself, saying she must go upstairs.
Alone again, Silvia looked tiredly around the stately drawing room. How small and alone she felt beneath the high arched ceilings and among the overpoweringly rich furnishings. She had the uneasy feeling that Schlange’s ghost was already stalking the castle, perhaps joining the feud between Aurelius and Siegfried. She crossed one arm over her breast and rubbed an aching shoulder. What a restless, nefarious spirit he would be. Was it true there was no rest for wicked souls?
Shuddering, she walked to the windows, but the view gave her no cheer. The day had become overcast and gray, a ghastly day made for funerals and sadness. Was it Schlange’s spirit making the house and the weather so mournful? Had he that power too? For it seemed, in the three days since he had died, that sorrow and gloom had grown to proportions that might never wear away.
She tried to shake herself out of the despondent spell. She must banish the dreadful thoughts from her mind or they would drive her to madness. Yet, try as she would, she couldn’t stop thinking that Schlange’s spirit might be in the drawing room with her. It was no more unbelievable than that one feeble old man had managed to arrange in advance every event to take place after his death. Should she have risked making a plea to the Reverend Samuels? Silvia paused in her pacing. She had circled the room and come to the door which opened into the adjoining smoking room, and now a sound from behind the door arrested her attention. Silently she took a step closer to listen.
“Can’t you see?” Eric’s voice came angrily from the smoking room. “It could not have worked more to her advantage had she planned it all. She might well control the estate.”
Were they discussing her and the terms of the will? The solicitor, Mr. Crandall, would soon be on his way, though his arrival would be delayed by several weeks, as he had yet to receive the message informing him of Mr. Schlange’s death. When he was here the reading could be done and the bequests made. Meanwhile, only Odin knew the hiding place of Schlange’s documents. And he had been instructed to turn them over to Crandall alone.
“That oaf Odin refuses to release the documents to me. If we knew what changes Uncle made, we might be able to prevent a complete loss,” Eric fumed.
“I believe he made a codicil to the will when Crandall was here before,” Martha said. “If that is the case, whether or not we agree, we must accept the changes in good grace.”
Silvia pressed her ear flatly against the door to hear the muffled voices more clearly.
“Aren’t we being premature?” Morgan cut in. “Willy cannot run the estate, nor can she. Uncle made no secret of the terms of his will. Willy inherits, and then the estate passes to us or our families. As long as Willy lives we have the same arrangement to manage the estate as we previously had with Uncle. And the same generous compensation. As I see it, we have no cause to complain. Uncle would not have turned the management of his empire over to an invalid son and his wife of a few weeks. I expect the new provision of the will was made to include a daughter-in-law rather than to exclude us.”
“Morgan,” Eric said shortly, “it’s time you stopped viewing the world through a rosy cloud. Everything we have worked for is at stake here. Why do you suppose Uncle arranged this unlikely marriage?”
“He told us why,” Morgan answered. “To provide a companion for Willy. Little more, I expect. What do you think, Roman?”
“I believe it would be best if she had never come here.” Roman’s voice woke her from a daze. “But more—”
“Are you all blind?” Eric asked hotly. “Suppose there is a child.”
“Stop it, Eric,” Martha said sharply. “Calm yourself. There is always a way to turn even the worst situation to your advantage. And you can rest assured Uncle would not have cast us out for a stranger.” She sighed softly. “Nevertheless, the estate was his to do with as he pleased. We must accept whatever that fate might be.”
Silvia’s mouth fell open and her little chin quivered. She could bear to hear no more, and rushed from the drawing room as if pursued. It was as Schlange had predicted. They had begun to hate her.
***
“You do want to go with me, don’t you, Willy?” Silvia’s eyes were bland, her voice falsely gay.
Willy’s guileless, peaceful face was lit with a smile. He nodded affirmatively. Willy trusted and needed her, and she was bound by her heart to protect him, which, of course, was as Schlange had foreseen.
The funeral was to be held in the afternoon and she had decided Willy should attend. It would be a somber, drawn out event, culminating in Schlange being laid to rest in a private cemetery not far from the castle. His was the first family grave dug in the wooded glen, and Silvia had flinched on first seeing the deep, raw gash the rectangular pit made in the smooth, peaceful flesh of the earth.
Willy, in his childlike way, had sensed the tension and strain in both Silvia and Vivien. He had reacted by clinging even more fervently to Silvia, an action which did not set well with Vivien. It was impossible to tell if he understood that his father was dead, but there had been an evident change in his behavior and he had become less and less content with his confinement as each day passed. Silvia was convinced Willy had loved his father in spite of the old man’s contempt for him.
“He should attend the burial,” Silvia protested again as she had done numerous times over the last two days.
“He is accustomed to his way of life and there is no reason to change his routine now,” Vivien retorted. “Certainly he should not be brought out to be a laughingstock at his father’s funeral.”
“He need not be. Willy and I can stand apart from the others on the little crest above the plot.” She turned to bestow a soothing smile on Willy. “I believe he understands what has happened and in his own way would like to say good-bye to his father.”
Vivien stared belligerently at her.
At last her tight lips parted. “You may be right in that,” she agreed reluctantly, tapping a fingernail against the marble top of a table. “It would arouse more suspicion if he were absent than if he were present.” Vivien lifted
her brows thoughtfully. “But see that he is kept well away from anyone,” she warned harshly. “I will join the crowd and dissuade any attempts to speak to him.”
Silvia agreed. It was a small first victory with Vivien, but a victory nevertheless. With Wilhelm gone, she hoped eventually to persuade Vivien that Willy must not be kept prisoner in his rooms. Perhaps she would demand it when the time was right. As long as she remained relatively a prisoner herself, she would exert her will to break the bonds in every way she could.
She was proved right at the funeral. Willy looked well dressed in his dark coat and breeches. Silvia hooked her arm through his, and from the distance, to the crowded gathering below, they must have looked the properly bereaved couple, too deep in grief to join other members of the funeral party.
Willy, though, had seemed unaffected by it all. Still, Silvia did her best to explain what was taking place, hoping he would indeed understand. She watched his wan face intently as the coffin was lowered into the dark depth of the grave, and as it disappeared, one small tear trickled from Willy’s eye as the pale, sensitive lips formed a soundless good-bye.
Silvia pressed Willy’s hand tightly in her own as they returned to the castle. She needed no more persuasion that Willy had far more understanding than he had been credited with. She was convinced it was long past time his confinement ended, and swore to herself she would wear Vivien down until she agreed.
***
“Ready now?” Willy had begun responding to her questions with gestures and nods. “Let’s go, then.”
A week after Wilhelm’s funeral, she had succeeded in getting Willy out of the house for walks. It had been a simple enough matter to explain to his cousins that the shock of his father’s death had changed him. She and Willy would end his seclusion by taking daily excursions over the grounds, but for a time preferred to do so privately.
In the afternoons she would take Willy to visit a small duck pond she had found at the end of a seldom-used path. There, out of sight of the castle, they would sit watching ducks paddling around and bobbing beneath the pond’s surface for fish and weeds.
“There he is! Watch!”
Willy’s delighted face was reward enough for the battles with Vivien. He had come so close to laughing at the fat green bullfrog making a desperate leaping dive into the pond that Silvia couldn’t contain a pleased smile.
Willy insisted on sitting atop a big rock well back from the water’s edge to watch the antics of the frogs.
Smiling, she knelt beside him.
“Would you like to wade today?”
His smile vanished and he shook his head furiously. His fear of the water was understandable but Silvia had hoped he might overcome it. The day before, when she had slipped off her shoes and dipped her feet in the shallow water near the bank, Willy’s face had clouded with panic. Sensing his concern, she had hurried out to reassure him.
Her hand went to his cheek and she patted it affectionately. She wouldn’t press him. It was enough that he came to the pond. There was no need to make him recall and relive the horrible tragedy that had killed his mother.
The walks must be happy occasions, Silvia vowed. She would lead him slowly into new experiences.
“We must go in now,” she said softly, taking Willy’s hand and leading him along the grassy path. “Tomorrow, perhaps we’ll visit the stable. You’d like to see the horses, wouldn’t you, Willy?”
Willy grinned and squeezed her hand fervently. Silvia smiled faintly in return, her eyes damp with tears for the hapless soul at her side, poor, simpleminded Willy whom she had come to love as a child.
As they neared the castle, she saw Vivien waiting at Willy’s door, her face stern and disapproving.
Resolved not to let Vivien discourage her work with Willy, she spoke quickly. “You should come with us, Vivien. See how his color has improved.” Silvia pointed out Willy’s bright cheeks and tanned face. “His appetite has improved as well.”
“Yes, he looks healthier,” Vivien admitted. “But I’m not convinced these outings are for the best.” Her brows furrowed into a worried frown. “Suppose he should try to go out alone?”
“He can’t,” Silvia snapped. “You keep him locked in.” She turned and smiled softly at Willy, who had been startled when she spoke sharply. “And anyway, you wouldn’t go out alone, would you, Willy?”
Attempting a smile, Willy shook his head from side to side.
“You see, he’s improving in all areas, Vivien. There’s so much he could do if we teach him. He has a remarkable sense of direction. I believe he knows the grounds better than I. It’s almost as if he’s walked them all before.”
“He’s spent many hours at the windows looking out. He might have learned the paths from watching us move about below.”
“It only proves he is more capable than Wilhelm believed,” Silvia said. In the bright light by the window, Vivien’s face had grim lines, but Silvia could sense her resistance weakening. “You will help me teach him, won’t you?”
Vivien’s brows lifted pensively and she made no reply. Yet Silvia knew she was considering the matter and would eventually come to her way of thinking. No matter how little she liked Silvia, in the end she would do what was best for Willy.
***
Silvia, however, had not become so preoccupied with Willy that she forgot her desire to find Schlange’s journal. She still harbored a dim hope of bringing the truth to light, although she believed it would make little difference to Roman now.
Odin, truly distraught over his master’s death, had not visited the house since the funeral, and she was convinced the journal remained hidden within the castle. Nightly she slipped out of her rooms after everyone retired, to search the library, the drawing room, anywhere the journal might be hidden. But after many nights of unsuccessful searching, loss of sleep and lack of success had begun to leave her weary, her hope waning.
Her quest had taken her stealthily through almost every room in the castle. She had searched relentlessly and futilely until she began to believe there was no point in continuing. Always with her were the troublesome thoughts of ghostly figures, but she had come to welcome the one shadow among them which followed her every step, waiting and watching. She felt it was the friendly presence of Siegfried, and at times tried approaching him, but always the whimsical shadow vanished, leaving her even more saddened and alone.
Tonight was particularly dreary and foggy and the air uncomfortably cool. Yet Silvia felt compelled once again to search Schlange’s library, still hoping to find a secret panel or hidden compartment, possibly concealed among the books. Once more her quest left her empty-handed and disappointed, and she returned to her own chambers tired to the point that sleep evaded her and she lay awake until sunup brooding over the hopelessness of her circumstances.
Consequently she arrived at breakfast the same morning somewhat red-eyed and not at all refreshed by the few hours of rest since she had given up her search for the night.
Eric, Roman, and Morgan sat at the table tight-lipped. Only Martha showed any sign of good spirits. There was a heavy cloud hanging over them all, an unspoken threat that all might experience a great upheaval in their lives once the solicitor arrived and read Schlange’s will. It was not Silvia’s imagination that they had treated her politely but coolly since Wilhelm’s death.
Silvia had not been able to relax completely since she had overheard the conversation in the smoking room, and had kept to herself except for the time she devoted to Willy. Lately it seemed even the friendly spirit of Siegfried no longer sought her company.
A tense mood prevailed until the meal was ending and Vivien hurried in, breathing rapidly and obviously agitated. She stopped short of reaching the table and addressed Silvia demandingly.
“Where is Willy?”
Silvia looked up, surprised. “Why, I don’t know. I haven’t yet seen him this morning.”
Lines of worry cut into Vivien’s long face. “He wouldn’t go out without you.”
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Silvia was wondering how Willy could have left his room and where he might be, when Odin burst through the back gate of the courtyard carrying his tragic, soggy bundle. Vivien was the first to see.
Her scream was one of agony, and in her startling rush to the door, she upset a chair and sent it crashing to the floor in her wake.
“Oh, Willy! My Willy!” Vivien cried, throwing open the French doors and flying into the garden.
Silvia’s face blanched as she pushed her chair back and jumped to her feet. She could see that the sodden, drooping bundle Odin carried was Willy’s lifeless body.
“Willy!” she screamed, and forcing strength to her legs, followed Vivien into the garden.
Vivien, in her anguish, clutched the water-swollen face to her own and tried to wrest Willy’s limp body from Odin’s arms.
Martha was by Silvia’s side, her face suddenly pale with shock, but she managed clumsily to put a bracing arm around Silvia’s shoulders.
“Oh, dear God, his face,” Martha cried. “Is it Willy?” she asked, hugging Silvia to her.
The men came up to assist Odin.
“Let him go!” Roman caught Vivien and pulled her away.
She was like a big black spider clinging desperately to Willy, holding and hugging him as if she could put life back in him. She fought Roman like a wild thing, her fury and grief giving strength to her spindly arms and legs. It took Morgan’s assistance to keep her under control, but even when they had stilled her frantic struggles, the screams and cries persisted.
“Put him down here.” Eric helped Odin lower the body to the ground and stripped off his shirt to cover poor Willy’s grisly face while he sent the black man inside to fetch a blanket.
Vivien hushed when Willy was covered. But her black eyes turned to glowing red coals burning with the fire of hatred. The full heat of her fury was directed at one person. Like a magnet, the direction of Vivien’s eyes seemed to draw the stares of everyone to Silvia.
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