“Let me have it, please.” Silvia reached anxiously, taking the envelope and starting to break the seal, then halted suddenly. “You may go, Anna. I shan’t be needing you again.”
“Why, yes, madam. If you say so.”
Anna hurriedly set out the tea service in her capable and efficient way. She poured a cup, then with a quick smile and a look of reluctance left the room.
Silvia’s unsteady fingers tore open the note the moment Anna was out of sight. She read it quickly:
Silvia,
A change of plans. Come to the tower room at midnight.
Roman
Silvia was trying to hold her head up. What was the time? The tea had made her drowsy after all, and she must have dozed off. Her eyes sought the little clock, whose hands seemed to have leapt ahead since the last time she looked. Only a few minutes left till midnight. The tower, she remembered. Roman had wanted her to meet him there. Had he found something important? The journal? Was that why he had suddenly changed his plans?
She started to get up. Her legs felt strange, as if they had come loose from the rest of her body. Had she been so tired? She finally gathered her two small bags, lit a candle, and went to meet Roman.
The tower door was open at the end of the long dark hall. She slipped inside and saw the spiraling stone steps, which seemed to disappear into the black void high above.
She climbed the endless steps, swearing under her breath that a new one grew for each one she took. Her legs ached terribly and she had stopped to rest when a sound came from overhead. Silvia gasped and clapped her hand to her mouth.
“Roman,” she panted. “Are you there?”
The flicker of a candle flame high above was all the answer she got, but it brought a tremor to her heart and a hurried pace to her unsteady feet.
“Roman,” she cried again as she at last reached the top of the stairs. There she found a narrow landing and a door which opened into the round tower room with the pagodaed bed. At the other side of the landing was an alcove with a window that looked out over the front approach to the castle. Just beyond the window was a flight of steps which led to the tower walk overhead.
She tried the door but it was locked. When there was no response to her light knocks, she started toward the steps thinking Roman had climbed to the walk.
The night was moonless and the wind strong high above the trees. A sudden gust snuffed out her candle and blew it from her hand, leaving her without a light to guide her steps. The window offered only a little more aid than the pitch black of the tower, but she rambled toward it seeking what dim rays it could offer. When she stopped, she was standing perilously near the edge and the wind, like a great hand, reached up and caught her skirts, whipping them mercilessly about her legs.
Far below she heard the sound of running. Startled, she caught her breath quickly and drew back, fearful of being seen. She felt, as she whirled, a hand grasping her shoulder.
The scream stuck in her throat. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and with a tremendous sense of relief she recognized the person behind her.
“Oh! Martha, it’s you.”
Martha’s hand covered Silvia’s mouth and she shook her head, warning Silvia to keep quiet as she pulled her forward. The white dress Martha wore stood out like a beacon in the darkness. Around her head and shoulders she had tied a fringed white shawl that was knotted at her throat.
“Shhh. Did I frighten you?”
“Yes, I didn’t know...I was expecting...Where’s Roman?”
Martha led her gently to the tower door. “He’s coming. He wants you to wait here.”
“What’s happened? Why didn’t he come for me?”
He couldn’t. He’s being watched.”
“By Willy’s killer?”
“Yes.”
“Who is it?”
Martha’s pale eyes were fully on her. She lowered her voice so that it was barely more than a whisper. “Morgan.”
“Morgan?” Silvia’s jaw went slack. “I can’t believe Morgan a killer!”
“Nor could I,” Martha responded gravely. “But then, Willy is dead, isn’t he? Poor simpleton.”
“You knew how Willy was?”
“Oh yes. I knew. Uncle didn’t keep his secret as well as he thought.”
“Did the others know?”
Martha shook her head. “They lacked the womanly curiosity to learn such things.”
She had unlocked the door and led Silvia inside the windowless tower room where the dozens of blazing candles lit its rose walls with a sea of crimson light. In the center of the circular room the pagodaed canopy bed with its rich velvet curtains stood like a pagan temple.
Her fear subsiding, Silvia sat gingerly on the edge of the settee she remembered vaguely having used once before.
“Do you know what this room was?” Martha asked, her face looking strangely white.
“I wondered,” she mumbled, glancing at Martha and wondering what could be keeping Roman so long.
“Uncle’s ‘harem’ room,” Martha informed her in a peculiar flat voice. “He had one like it in his castle in Germany. That one he used. He kept his mistresses there.”
“Locked up?”
“No. There was a door below from outside. That way they could come and leave as he wished. He allowed no one in that tower. Not even Magda.” Her voice rose and she laughed strangely. “But she came one day, against Uncle’s orders, and found him with one of his painted harlots. It was that which drove her mad. But you know that part of the story. Uncle told you.”
“Yes.” Silvia’s eyes narrowed. “But how did you know?”
Martha laughed. “More of Uncle’s secrets,” she declared vigorously. “There are passages in this house where one can go secretly from room to room. Uncle thought he had them all locked up.” Martha’s mouth was hard. “One leads to your room. There’s a panel behind the wall curtains.”
“So that’s how Willy got in and out.” She sank back on the settee. “And left his room without Vivien knowing.”
“Yes.” Martha nodded gently. “Sometimes I helped him get out myself, poor thing. He liked the forests, hiding in the woods, watching people come along the path and following quiet as a cat stalking a mouse. He was there the day you arrived, watching you come through the trees with Odin.”
“I remember,” Silvia whispered. “I heard him following. It frightened me.”
Martha’s laughter rang out again at a higher pitch. “He’s through wandering now, though, poor, dear Willy.”
A shroud of doubt fell over Silvia, bringing an apprehensive shiver to her flesh.
“I wonder if something has happened to Roman.”
“No. Nothing will happen to Roman,” Martha said sternly.
“He’s taking so long.”
A subtle change came over Martha’s face.
“We don’t have to wait any longer.” She smiled mildly. “We can go to him now.”
“Could we? Do you think it’s safe?” Silvia breathed a sigh of relief, but a persistent nagging doubt remained in her mind.
“I think it is very safe now.” Martha was on her feet and hurrying past the bed.
She opened the door, sending Silvia out ahead of her. “Go to the window,” she whispered. “Look out. See if you see a light by the stable.”
Silvia went quietly to the window, and there, holding to the wall, leaned out dangerously far to see the stable. It was dark, the wind like a whip snapping her hair loose and sending it streaming around her face. She heard the soft patter of Martha’s feet behind her.
“Is there a light?”
“No. It’s dark.”
“Look again.”
Silvia stood framed in the arch of the window, a girl silhouetted in the silvery moonlight, one hand in a crevice in the stone, the other holding the hair from her eyes. She was certain. There was no light. No signal. But suddenly she was fearful the danger might not be below. Turning, she found Martha standing directly behind her, smiling bl
andly, and giving her no room to maneuver away from the window. Coming around the tower, the wind increased and threatened to sweep her over the edge.
“Martha, give me a hand or I’ll fall,” she cried. Martha moved threateningly toward her, her face cold and hard, her eyes menacing as daggers.
“And do us all a favor,” she said savagely. “Did you think you could come here and take everything that belonged to us so easily?”
Silvia stared in mounting horror. The bitter resentment in Martha’s eyes told her all.
“Martha,” she pleaded, “I don’t want it, don’t want any of it.”
“Not even Roman?” Martha sneered.
“Roman?”
“Yes, Roman.” Martha positioned herself even closer to Silvia. “Did you think I would let you take Roman from me?” She tossed her head haughtily. “I knew it was Roman you wanted all along. But he despises you.” Martha threw her head back and laughed softly. “It’s me he loves.”
“Then why did he try to help me?”
“He wanted to get rid of you. But my way is surer. Did you think I would let you live and bear his child?”
“You know...”
“Yes. I was there listening when Uncle told you what he wanted. And then today when you said there was to be a child, I knew it was Roman’s. It wasn’t right of Uncle, you know, to leave it all to a child. We worked very hard for Uncle, were very loyal, but what did it matter? He would have forgotten us and left everything to the child.”
Martha’s fingers tugged at the knotted shawl, pulling it loose. The wind snatched the silken garment from her hands and sent it floating into the night.
Silvia’s heart floated away with it. At Martha’s throat she could see the fiery gleam of the emerald, the Cerastes Stone, blazing as wildly as Martha’s eyes. A coldness flooded Silvia’s veins as all the ghastly pieces came together in her mind.
“You killed Willy.”
“You both had to be gotten rid of,” Martha raved. “When you’re dead, everything will be the way it should be.”
She smiled and moved forward to give Silvia the nudge that would send her plummeting to the stone steps below.
Silvia stood rooted to the spot, bracing her arms against the sides of the window, the wind like a snare threatening to aid Martha and suck her out into the darkness. She screamed, hoping someone would hear, knowing it was futile, that no one could reach her in time.
“Martha!” The shout, reverberating from the tower walls, came from all directions at once.
Silvia saw Roman catapult from the last step just as Martha lunged at her.
Had he come to witness her death? It was the end of her endurance. Her arms let go and she slid rapidly to the floor.
Martha, hearing her name called, spun around to look, and in so doing, stumbled over Silvia’s prostrate form. She tumbled through the window, wild-eyed, skirts flying, hands frantically clutching at the air. Her scream was a terrible sound that ended Silvia’s consciousness.
***
The emerald mist faded away in her dreams. She saw roses by the hundreds, smelled the sweet, fresh fragrance of roses. Voices were filtering through the soft petals, trying to wake her, but Silvia resisted her return to consciousness. She listened, only half-hearing, wondering deep in her soul if she would ever want to wake up again.
“If you had come to me sooner, you rock-headed dolt, this might not have happened. Why didn’t you tell me you suspected Martha was responsible for Silvia’s riding accident?” Morgan’s eyes went from Silvia to Roman.
“Or if I had spoken up when I first suspected she was behaving strangely.” Eric sighed heavily.
“She was your sister and you loved her.” Morgan consoled.
“Yes, but I should have been the first to see and act. Not the last to suspect,” Eric replied, his voice steady.
“We all share the blame. We knew the old man and what he was capable of. I should never have agreed to help him. I should have taken Willy away years ago.”
“You did what you thought best, Vivien.”
“But it was wrong.”
“We were all wrong,” Roman added, the final note that fully reached Silvia.
She jerked her head, feeling satin bedsheets about her. She opened her eyes. Bending over her were all those hazy faces from her dreams. They looked anxious, and in a moment she deciphered their voices: Eric, Morgan, Vivien. And one other voice, from beneath a purple hood, spoke quite clearly.
“She’s awake,” Vivien said softly, moving away. “We ought to go,” Morgan whispered, straightening up and following Vivien.
“I want to make sure she’s not hurt,” Eric responded, hanging back.
“Just come along,” Morgan said impatiently, and caught Eric’s arm. Vivien waited until they were both through the door, then smiled and quietly shut it behind her.
Anxious eyes from the face in that purple hood looked down on her. She moaned and twisted her head, focusing on familiar objects in the room. She was seeing distinctly again.
“Martha?” she asked.
“Dead from the fall.”
“Siegfried,” she whispered. “It is you, my love.”
Her hand lifted slowly to push the hood back.
“Not Siegfried,” he whispered.
“Oh, Roman.”
“You are disappointed?”
“Do you believe in ghosts?” She was still uncertain Roman could have tricked her so well.
He sighed.
“Silvia, Martha had been putting an herb in your tea. She probably thought it was deadly, but it actually only makes one drowsy and causes distorted vision.”
Her ire rose as she guessed the meaning of his words. “The ghost was real. He loved as no earthly man could ever do.”
Roman’s sigh deepened. “This is Siegfried’s cloak. I took it from the statue in the library. I wore it.” His eyes clouded. “I was your ghost. At first I used my disguise to spy on you, then I realized what you were searching for. I found Wilhelm’s papers and his journals long ago, my darling. I also found out Martha knew much more about Uncle’s scheming than any of us ever did. She also wanted to get rid of you as none of us ever did. In the end I played along with her, hoping she would do as I said until I could get you safely away. My plans, however, almost failed. Somehow Martha found out I had no intention of killing you, despite my performance this afternoon when she and I rode together.” Roman leaned down and kissed Silvia lightly on her lips. “I truly must have seemed like a ghost, for the apparition gave Martha such a scare she stumbled over you and fell to her death from the tower windows.”
Still confused, Silvia protested. “I might have been drugged, but my ghost, my Siegfried, was real.”
“No, love. It was I,” he mused. “See this?” Roman raised his hand to show the gold ring she had placed there. “Slipped on my finger in this very bed,” he whispered.
Her honey eyes sparkled with mischief as she pushed a bouquet of roses aside to make room for him to sit. Hadn’t she always known in her heart only Roman could truly hold her love?
“Ghost or man, I always loved you, Roman,” she said softly, entwining her arms around his neck.
His eyes were questioning, then threatening. She knew she would pay merrily for her teasing.
Bemused, Roman shook his tawny head. “Will you marry me, then, though the whole world will think our child belongs to Willy?” He sighed heavily. “It seems old Wilhelm had his way. He will get his heir.”
Her smile held the look of love. “He did not win. The marriage was never consummated. Nor is there a pregnancy.” She kissed him lightly, drawing him to her in the bed. “But perhaps you, my love, soon will have an heir.”
About the Author
Andrea Parnell is the award-winning author of ten novels, short fiction and articles, with more than one million copies of her books in print. Her works include Gothic, Western, and other historical and contemporary romances. Several of her books have been set in her home state of
Georgia. Andrea has received both the Maggie and Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice awards for her writing, and is a member of Novelists, Inc. (NINC) and past president of the Georgia Authors Network. She is fond of cats, travel, overgrown gardens, and old houses with lots of crooks, crannies, and interesting shadows. Please visit her website at AndreaParnell.com.
Andrea at Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/AndreaParnell
Follow Andrea on Twitter: @andreahparnell
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Dark Splendor Page 28