The Prisoner of Silverwood Castle

by Marie Treanor

  I frowned. “I don’t know. That’s odd too. No pictures of him.”

  “You’re not looking in the right place. Try the library.”

  “I didn’t even know there was a library,” I said, brightening. The ghostly fingers trailed across my cheek, almost like a caress. I gazed up at him. “Why are you more…ghostly than last night?”

  “Well, I’m not really here.”

  “Then why can I feel you?” I whispered. I didn’t mean to whisper. It was just that I felt his caress on my lips as I tried to speak, and the flutter seemed to be seeping through my whole body, growing heavier as it went.

  “I want you to,” he said softly.

  “Why?”

  There was a pause. “I don’t know. To return a kindness. Or a selfish desire. Both? Never mind. Sleep now.”

  My heart beat too fast for sleep. And yet…I could see the outline of his hand cupping my cheek. I could feel its touch like an echo, intimate, impossible, and yet safe. On impulse, I dragged up my own hand, placing it over his against my cheek. I felt my own touch, but my fingertips picked up more, something, someone else beneath them.

  His eyes widened, as if he too felt my touch and was as stunned by it as I was by his. Then he smiled. “Guin,” he murmured, as if remembering my name. “Sweet Guin…” His ghostly head lowered farther towards mine, and a flock of butterflies seemed to break free in my stomach. No stranger had ever kissed me before, but perhaps because this one wasn’t real, I found I had no objections.

  The first touch of his ghostly mouth made my lips tremble and part. And yet I could barely feel the pressure, a soft stirring of my skin that I felt all the way to the butterflies in my stomach, now surging lower, heating all the forbidden places between my legs. At least I vaguely understood they were supposed to be forbidden, but since they came with the rest of my body, I had never been above exploring them when inexplicable urges came upon me.

  It was intensely sweet and intimate, the ghostly lips caressing mine, his hand on my cheek and my hand on his while my body floated in sensation. I even felt the motion of his lips against mine as he murmured, “Sleep now. Sleep…”

  Just before my eyes closed, I imagined the room darkened as his head blocked the candle. And yet his touch was ghostly, unreal, barely there at all. It soothed me, blending the comfort into the desire until my blissful mind spun off into sleep.

  * * * * *

  The duke joined our party for breakfast in Augusta’s apartments the following morning. I felt slightly dazed by the extraordinary memory of last night. I’d no idea if it was dream or reality, but I felt inexplicably happy. I knew I wanted it to be real—mysteriously, eerily, and yet romantically real…

  I also found myself looking a little more closely at Augusta’s interactions with her husband. Despite his attentiveness in her company, the duke was impeccably formal. I wondered if that changed when they were alone, if he kissed her and if she liked it. As for the more intimate relations that came with marriage, my mind rather boggled at Augusta doing anything so earthy.

  For the rest, I glimpsed none of the comfortable companionship apparent with my stepsister Caroline and her husband, Sir Neil who, although they hardly fawned publicly on each other, shared occasional glances of understanding or amusement and odd, casual touches of affection in passing. Of course, Caroline had been married for twelve years, Augusta for less than one month.

  As for my other sisters, they seemed to spend no time at all with their husbands—although since they kept having children, presumably they did. Marriages were private, and rightly so.

  When there was a gap in the polite conversation, I set down my coffee cup and politely asked the duke if I might use the castle library.

  His eyebrows shot up, as if he was surprised I could read. “Why, yes, if you wish… But there are not many novels there, and very few English books. What are you looking for?”

  “I just want to look,” I said vaguely. “I like books, and someone mentioned your library.”

  “It is considered to be very fine,” Leopold allowed. His cold gaze rested on my face. It struck me that he didn’t usually see me. Certainly, he rarely acknowledged me. “You look tired,” he said abruptly. “Do you not sleep well here?”

  Everyone looked at me­, apart from Augusta, who continued to eat her toast. Hilde and the baroness both wore expressions of concern I was at a loss to account for. In fact, I suspected the concern was not for me but for what I would say. The baroness, surely, had been responsible for the assignment and the state of my bedroom. Was she afraid I would complain to the duke?

  “Perfectly well,” I said. “Thank you.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw the baroness smile and lower her gaze, as if grateful for my reticence. And yet her eyelid twitched with what looked to me like annoyance. Did she want me to complain to the duke?

  Perhaps that would be my undoing and he’d send me home in disgrace as she wanted. I just couldn’t understand why she wanted me gone so badly. I barely impinged on her life and she must have noticed by now that I had less influence than a gnat with my sister.

  “Perhaps you should be resting rather than reading,” Leopold suggested.

  “You might as well ask her not to breathe,” Augusta said dryly. “She is such a blue stocking. What is our agenda for today, Highness?”

  More of the same, apparently. Except that the duke would send her a potential secretary for her approval, and take her on a formal drive so that the local people could see, if not meet, their duchess. I felt a tug of interest at that, although it conflicted with my original plan to brave the beast in the prison which didn’t exist.

  However, my dilemma was solved easily enough when Augusta informed me there would be no room for me in the carriage.

  “It’s more important that I’m seen with local aristocracy, so the baroness and Hilde will both accompany me.”

  “Then I’ll have plenty of time to spend in the library,” I said mildly.

  Augusta shrugged, clearly quite uninterested in how I spent my time when not with her. I wondered what she’d say if I confided my odd dreams and suspicions of ghosts and beasts and secret prisoners. The thought made me smile as I made my way downstairs to the public areas of the castle.

  Since no one had thought to explain to me where the library was, I simply asked one of the footmen, who bowed and accompanied me along a massive, gold-painted gallery that reminded me of the palace of Versailles, and eventually opened a door on the left.

  I walked in and smiled. I didn’t even notice the door closing behind me as I spun appreciatively to take in my surroundings.

  The ceiling was as ornate as anywhere else in the main castle, and some unexpected Grecian-style pillars divided the room. The furnishings of sofas, winged armchairs, and dark-wooden desks and chairs were luxurious. But the walls were what truly attracted me: they were almost entirely taken up with books, from floor to ceiling. The only gap was the fireplace, above which hung three portraits.

  I walked towards the paintings, my eyes straying frequently to the books. I could spend years in here and never even know what half of these were about. Exciting.

  Rather to my disappointment, the middle portrait in pride of place, was of the present duke, Leopold himself, although it had clearly been painted some years ago when he’d been a youth. He still looked stiff, haughty, and cold, and yet something shone out of his eyes that looked different to me. Hunger…not actual physical hunger, but need all the same. Determination and want.

  “Ambition,” I murmured, and turned to the portrait on his right, which was of an even younger man I almost didn’t recognize at all. His brother Prince Heribert as a somewhat discontented boy. Leopold’s heir, until Augusta produced him a son.

  Impatiently, I looked to the left, wondering why I placed so much credence on what had surely been a dream, or sheer imagination. The
third painting was of three people, a couple and a child. I pushed my glasses up my nose to read the engraved label attached to the frame. “Edward, fifteenth Duke of Silberwald, Duchess Amelie, Prince Kasimir, 1826.”

  My heart jolted. But if I’d expected to recognize my ghostly prisoner in the painting, I was doomed to disappointment. This Kasimir couldn’t have been more than five years old, a clearly lively child that the painter had caught in motion, in the act of leaping away from his father. There was a distinctly feral look about him, a wildness in his eyes, an animalistic snarl that displayed his teeth.

  Mad Prince Kasimir indeed. I felt stupidly disappointed. Although I looked very hard, I couldn’t see many traces in this child of the man I’d discovered in chains, the apparition who’d kissed me so sweetly I could still feel the tingles on my lips when I thought about it. Which was often.

  The child had a shock of blond hair and spitting blue eyes, certainly, but neither seemed to be the same shade as my prisoner’s. Besides which, this boy looked positively insane, reminding me more of the screaming beast I’d heard yesterday than the rational if eccentric young man I’d spoken to through his cell door. And in my bedroom. Maybe.

  And yet, if this likeness had been painted in 1826, then the child subject would be now around twenty-four years old, which would probably fit with the prisoner’s age. Although, if he were a ghost, wouldn’t he still look as he had when he’d died at the age of only sixteen?

  Funnily enough I no longer wanted this portrait to be of him. My imagination was making a romance out of a sad, unpleasant real-life story.

  But at least I was surrounded by books. I turned my back on the portraits and wondered where to start.

  * * * * *

  The sun drew me outside a couple of hours later. Along with many dusty, ancient tomes of learning in German, Latin, and French, I’d discovered a hoard of English novels, old and new. I emerged into the sunshine with a copy of Jane Eyre in my triumphant hands. I’d started this novel a few months ago, but my eldest nephew had thrown it in the fire during a tantrum. Now, at last, I would discover what happiness was in store for Jane away from her unspeakable family and that awful school…

  As I walked, searching for a quiet, comfortable place to sit and read, the fresh air and the views over the countryside filled me with the urge to go beyond the castle walls. Even at home, I’d never been important enough to need an escort in the country, so I certainly wouldn’t need one here. I wondered who I should speak to about a horse? The duke, I supposed ruefully. He was shut up with his ministers or his sycophants, whoever the important looking gentlemen were, before his carriage progress, so I was unlikely to catch him.

  On the other hand, my sister was the duchess! There had to be some advantage to the position. So I called at Augusta’s apartments on the way to my own room to change, and found her sitting room full of women. Competing for places in her household, I could only assume. Still, Augusta seemed quite in her element, like a queen bee at the centre of her devoted hive.

  “Her Highness is excellent in her new role,” the baroness said, materializing beside me.

  “So I see.”

  “The duke is most proud of her.”

  “I’m very glad,” I said.

  “As you can see, she is rather occupied right now. Is there something I can help you with?”

  I regarded her thoughtfully. I really did think she was trying to isolate me from my sister. Either of us could have told her she was wasting her time, since we’d never been remotely close in the first place. Just for a moment, I considered telling her so in no uncertain terms before barging in on Augusta’s conversation. In the circumstances, I had no objection to rudeness. I even opened my mouth to begin, only the vision of my sister’s panicked expression last night flashed annoyingly back into my mind.

  I closed my mouth again, swallowed, and answered the baroness civilly instead. “Yes, I hope so. I would like to ride out from the castle, but I haven’t spoken to the duke about horses.”

  “When would you like to ride?”

  I blinked. “Now.”

  “I’m afraid that’s quite impossible. There are no ladies available to accompany you, and the soldiers await the duke’s convenience for his own expedition.”

  “Oh, I don’t need anyone to accompany me. I just need a horse.”

  The baroness’s eyes frosted, and yet I thought she was daring me to pursue this. “There are no horses available.”

  “None?” I said in frank disbelief. “Absolutely none?”

  “None,” the baroness said with what I thought was unseemly relish. She smiled, although her eyes were like flint. “None suitable. The duke would not wish his sister to partake of anything unsuitable.”

  Such as, presumably, riding the wrong horse, without a female chaperone and a male escort. For an instant, I wrestled with a sense of constriction, of chains holding me here as surely as those binding the prisoner in the tower. I fought the sudden urge to pull against those chains with very public defiance. After all, who was she to tell me where I could and couldn’t go, or how to behave? It hung in the balance, and she knew it. I even detected pleasure as I prepared to do battle.

  But I was the youngest of seven siblings. I’d learned early there are better ways than face-to-face conflict to achieve my goals.

  I smiled at the baroness. “Heaven forbid,” I said with gentle piety, and inclined my head before leaving the room. I don’t think Augusta even noticed I’d been there.

  I went to my bedchamber, but rather than change into a riding habit, I merely pinned a shawl about my shoulders, donned my bonnet, and picked up a hooded cloak in case the weather turned. Then, retrieving Jane Eyre from the bed, I sallied forth.

  A brisk walk was just what I needed to calm my temper and blow the castle cobwebs from my mind. And there was a sense of freedom in making it beyond the gates. The guards let me through without a word. I suspected they didn’t recognise me, and indeed why should they? I just hoped they’d let me back in again.

  * * * * *

  My walk proved most interesting as well as enjoyable. The labourers I encountered en route seemed surly, although when I greeted them cheerfully in their own language, they answered, after a distinct pause which seemed to denote surprise rather than disrespect. I followed a footpath rather than the carriage road until I came to a village where I was gawped at from a safe distance. I greeted everyone whose eye I caught and asked a woman if there was anywhere I could buy some bread.

  Her eyes widened with incomprehension. A younger woman close by spoke to her in rapid, local dialect I couldn’t follow, and she turned into her house, only to emerge a few moments later with a loaf of bread.

  I gave her a coin—too much for the loaf, which I asked her to cut. She re-emerged once more with a cup of water as well as the cut bread. Touched, I thanked her, drank the water, and left, armed with my loaf. I had an escort out of the village; some children followed me until at last I spread out my cloak on a hillock, and sat on it to read my book and eat my bread.

  The watching children were a bit of distraction from Jane’s trials, so I beckoned the children for a chat and let them share my bread. Although we got on rather well, I didn’t return through the village as they wanted. Instead I sent them home and skirted the hill until I could see the old part of the castle. Then I moved closer to the wall, looking for a way in.

  If there was one, I didn’t find it. But I was still sure there had to be a way to the prisoner’s tower that wasn’t the passages past my bedroom. After all, someone was cleaning and living in that tower without anyone seeming to know about it, even the colonel of the castle guard.

  As I toiled my way towards the gate once more, I saw the ducal cavalcade leave the castle on the main road, a long, noisy line of carriages, horses, and riders decked out in bright, beautiful colours, the sumptuous whole surrounded by finely plumed m
ounted soldiers whose gold braid shone in the sunshine. By the time I reached the gate, I could hear only the echo of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves.

  * * * * *

  My heart beating like a drum, I found my way easily this time along the dark corridors to the empty stone hall. Although I strained my ears, I could hear nothing, no human voices, no animal howls. It was as if this old part of the castle was an entirely different and completely empty world.

  Except that someone cleaned the room upstairs, and read in it.

  I took my time on this occasion, walking nearer the windows of the old hall, where the light tried to break through the grime, looking for any signs of animal droppings or hair among the gravelly dirt. But I found nothing more interesting than a couple of curly old leaves—blown in from a door I hadn’t yet discovered? Or walked in on someone’s shoe?

  I gazed at the spiral staircase with a heart-pounding mixture of dread and excitement. Slowly, I walked towards it, every creeping step as careful and silent as I could make it. I tried not to let my imagination form shadow figures from the gloom, just kept my goal in sight. As I began to climb, I curled my fingers around the scissors I’d placed in my gown pocket beside Bessie’s ointment, ready to fight or run at a moment’s notice. I hoped.

  The door on the first landing stood ajar.

  My stomach lurched with triumph. Was this the way in and out? I could see nothing in the open crack, but if nothing else, this certainly proved someone else had been here since yesterday afternoon. More than ever, I had to take care…although what I expected to happen to me if I was discovered, I wasn’t quite sure. Unless it was to be eaten by the beast.

  After hesitating, I moved on to the room above. I would check the prisoner’s room before I explored through this door.

  Once again, the door to the swept room with the book and the table stood open. The book was gone. Forcing my breath to slow and calm, I crept into the room. Nothing seemed to have changed except for the vanishing book, which was more proof, if I still needed it, that someone besides me came here.