Dark Splendor (10 page)

Silvia laughed lightly. “He gave me a
terrible fright in the dark.”

Martha’s face reflected understanding. “I
think Aurelius is Uncle’s favorite. He plagued the seas three
hundred years ago and made the family fortune. The Schlanges
changed from simple sailors to wealthy landowners in his day. Uncle
still owns a large estate in Germany as well as property and the
shipping company in England.” She laughed. “There are plenty of
Uncle’s business associates who call him a pirate behind his
back.”

“I am sure there are some who mistake good
business sense for cunning,” Silvia remarked. “But your uncle is a
fair man, of course.”

“And is he your uncle as well?” Martha
paused beside the last statue.

Surprised, Silvia met Martha’s eyes. “No. He
is my employer, as I have explained.”

A tinge of disappointment showed in the
depths of Martha’s eyes, but she did not probe further. Smiling,
she continued along the line of statuary, recounting the milder
history of those who had come after Aurelius. Silvia noted Martha
made no mention of any immediate family members and how it was that
Mr. Schlange’s niece and nephews resided with him. She thought of
asking. Martha seemed inclined to speak freely of the Schlange
ancestors, but given her position, she relented of her curiosity
and deemed it prudent not to inquire about such a personal
matter.

Shortly they came to the last marble figure.
He stood apart from the others and near French doors leading to a
walled terrace on the outer wall of the castle. Martha drew open
the heavy curtains that covered glass-paned doors. Light flooded
the darkened corner, and the figure, as if absorbing the sun’s
heat, took on a golden cast.

Silvia walked up face to face with the last
statue. Her heart gave a great bound. “Why, it’s Roman!”

The proud figure was clothed in archaic garb
and shod in sandals with leather cords laced up over the flaring
calves of his legs. He wore a leather loincloth and over it a short
tunic belted at the waist and falling just to the top of his
muscular thighs. A gold medallion hung around his neck, one which
to Silvia’s surprise bore the Schlange crest. Fitted in his hand
was a short sword, the handle of intricately patterned gold and the
blade of sharp deadly steel. Flung back over his shoulders was a
long hooded cloak of dark purple.

A silent moment passed before Martha
responded.

“I’ve always thought Roman could have posed
for it, though of course that’s impossible. That statue is the
oldest and most valuable of them all. It has been in the family for
four generations, since Aurelius stole it in his
looting-and-plundering days. No one knows the origin, though some
say the workmanship is Greek.” Martha’s face brightened momentarily
and a rapid pulse throbbed in her slender white throat.

“I see,” Silvia said softly, a blush running
like a shadow over her cheeks as she realized how blatantly she too
was staring at the statue.

Not seeming to notice Silvia’s discomfort,
Martha ran her fingers over the forehead of the stone face.

“Actually the figure is Siegfried, a god
from German folklore. You may have heard him called Thor.” She
smiled indulgently and continued in a voice that had the soft
monotony of a practiced recitation. “Uncle hints he is directly
descended from the gods. I’ve always considered that a ruse to
sidestep the more humble ancestry of the Schlange family. But with
Uncle it is impossible to know how seriously he takes the claim,
and none of us dare question him too far on the matter.”

“In any event, it’s a fascinating story and
one that is sure to raise eyebrows in any gathering,” Silvia
commented, her eyes again drawn involuntarily to the broad
shoulders and powerfully muscled arms beneath the cloak. Though
carved of stone, they looked warm and protective.

Martha must have felt the same, because her
hand was resting possessively on one stone shoulder. Her finely
shaped lips had parted slightly as a slow, graceful movement of her
other hand made an adjustment in the hang of the cloak. When she
turned again to Silvia, the distant dull glow persisted in her
eyes.

“And perhaps that is all Uncle wants.”
Martha tilted her head to one side. “Attending to the statuary is
my responsibility. I made many of the costumes myself, and of
course they have to be sewn on the statues. Fitting clothes to
marble people is no easy task, and Uncle insists they be replaced
when they become soiled or faded. He receives his business
associates in this room and delights in seeing their reaction to
his collection.” Her voice dropped. “Have you noticed there are no
portraits in the house, only statues or busts of family
members?”

“No. How odd,” Silvia said briskly. Her tone
was polite if her comment impertinent. She had noticed several
marble busts in the hallway, though she had not given them a
careful look. Another time she would study the busts more closely.
At the moment she was plagued by the vague thought that many things
were incredibly odd at Serpent Tree Hall.

She glanced at the elegant blond woman
beside her. An indulgent look rested on Martha’s face and she was
clearly enjoying Silvia’s reaction to the statues. At times Silvia
thought she noticed a rather detached look in Martha’s eyes. But
she quickly shrugged away the notion, thinking it most likely due
to the strain of living in such an isolated place.

Martha made a little clucking sound in her
throat and laughed with a lilting lightness. “Some castles have
their suits of armor, but Uncle has his statues. Most of them he
brought from Germany when he built the castle here,” she continued.
“The servants there were terrified of them, saying there was a
ghost for each one. Though all the spirits are rumored to be
friendly, except for Siegfried and Aurelius. The legend is that
Siegfried pursues Aurelius through the castle in the wee hours of
the night. That is Aurelius’ curse for having stolen the statue.”
She looked away swiftly. “But of course no one believes in ghosts
in this day and time.”

“I’m sure I don’t.” Silvia laughed. “There
are plenty of real dangers. One need not look to ghosts for a
fright. Though when she turned back to look at the fierce face of
Aurelius Schlange, she wasn’t terribly sure she was right. She
thought dolefully she would hate to meet his restless spirit on a
moonless night. A mild shudder coursed her spine, and fighting it,
she straightened her shoulders, throwing off the foolish thoughts
of ghosts.

Martha, on her way to the door, stopped and
knelt down. “This must belong to you,” she said, holding out a
tortoiseshell comb. “One you lost in your fall.” Martha looked
carefully at the comb, turning it in her hand and noting the unique
scallop-and-shell design. “Do you have the other?”

Silvia’s brows flicked up. She reached into
her pocket and found it empty. “I...Yes I do.” she stammered,
recalling Roman had last had the comb and must have taken it with
him.

Martha dropped the comb in Silvia’s waiting
hand. “Good. You wouldn’t want to lose one of a pair.”

Martha stopped at the door, her hand resting
on the brass serpent which formed the handle. She smiled serenely
back at Silvia. Martha moved with an enviable smoothness and Silvia
could not help but appreciate her graciousness. What a lovely
person she was to have tried so hard to make a stranger feel
comfortable and welcome, to have rescued her from the teasing barbs
at breakfast.

“I’m sure I’ve tired you out with my tales,
and you were on the way to your room.” Martha tapped her finger
once on the door handle. “I’ll leave you here in case you want to
select another book. There’s little else to do for entertainment.”
She reached up to smooth the hair at her temples.

“Oh, please, don’t be concerned for me. I
won’t be bored.” Silvia smiled gratefully.

“Perhaps later we can talk again. I do have
things to attend to. Uncle entrusts the management of the household
servants to me and I must give the cook some orders about dinner.”
She stepped through the doorway but paused again to add, “I’ll see
you at lunch.” With that she was gone, shutting the door behind
her.

Silvia strolled toward the French doors,
where light streamed in bright and warm. A breeze shook the tops of
the tall oaks visible in the distance. She shifted her gaze to the
terrace, her expression still and serious. Reflected in the panes
she could see the images of Siegfried and Magda, still and stone
white. Her spirits were sinking rapidly and her own reflection
looked little more lifelike than that of the statues.

It was the way Martha said the word
“servants” that brought her crashing to earth. She brushed at her
eyes where she felt the sting of tears forming. She had to remember
her place. Despite a few days of freedom, she was a servant and it
would not do for her to forget it. She was not a guest at Serpent
Tree Hall. Soon she would be one of those to whom Martha was giving
orders. And when that day came, Martha might regret she had shared
conversations and a stroll in the garden with an indentured
servant.

Silvia sighed longingly. Strange that they
took her to be someone else. And how easy it would be to become
accustomed to this life. How easy it would be to become accustomed
to beautiful gowns, to mornings in the garden and afternoon rides
over the island.

She turned abruptly to look at the statue of
Siegfried. He was so like Roman, from the breadth of his chest to
the arrogant jut of his chin and the bold set of his mouth. Perhaps
there was some truth to the tale. Perhaps the Schlange family had
descended from Siegfried. Ridiculous. She was dreaming, letting her
imagination whisk her away from reality. Siegfried was only part of
old Germanic legends, no more real that the ghosts Martha spoke of.
She smiled wistfully, remembering that Roman had discarded his
lordly airs and issued an invitation for an afternoon ride.

It was time to put her rampant thoughts to
rest and go to her room. She didn’t even know if she would find a
riding costume among her things.

***

Silvia opened the spacious armoire, with its
sprinkling of painted yellow flowers, and inspected the contents.
There were gowns Vivien had not shown her and there was indeed a
riding habit as well as boots made of fine leather. She tried the
boots and found a high pair that made a good fit.

Taking the riding habit out, she carried it
to the dressing room and hung it on a wooden peg by the mirror. The
riding costume was fawn-colored with a brown velvet collar and had
a linen blouse with a ruffled jabot. With it was a matching dark
brown cap which would keep her hair secure, and there was even a
leather riding crop with a hammered-silver handle to complete the
costume.

She was about to try the jacket for fit when
Anna came to call her for lunch.

“They be dining on the terrace, miss.” Anna
hurried her along. “It’s got a bit of shade, though, no hot sun,”
she added. “Miss Martha is there now.” The little lines around
Anna’s mouth quivered as if she were just bursting to talk. But to
Silvia’s disappointment, she stilled the impulse and forced herself
to keep quiet. There was no further babbling from her as she stood
in the doorway wringing the corners of her apron. Her wide eyes had
been quickly cast downward after she delivered her message.

Silvia dismissed Anna reluctantly. She felt
like a soul in limbo, uncertain of her destination and not knowing
whom to reach out to. Someone, she thought forlornly, should tell
her who and what she was in this place. For now, though, she would
bide her time and wait as patiently as possible. Again she had to
remind herself not to be melancholy but simply to enjoy. Those were
her orders.

“Thank you, Anna,” Silvia called as the
woman disappeared down the hall. “I’ll hurry.”

She took a moment to brush back her hair and
locate another set of combs. With a few deft twists she fashioned
it into a sleek coil on the back of her neck, then dabbed a little
lavender water behind her ears.

Hopefully her disappointment was not evident
as she reached the terrace. Anticipation of seeing Roman had
brought spots of color to her cheeks, but she found only Martha and
Morgan in attendance for lunch.

“Eric and Roman have gone off to the mill to
look at a new piece of equipment,” Martha explained. “They’ve
carried a lunch with them, so the three of us will be dining
alone.”

Gallantly Morgan helped the ladies to their
chairs. If he sensed Silvia’s momentary frustration, his cheerful
face gave no indication of it.

“And I won’t be distressed if they stay away
all day,” he said easily. Morgan had a wealth of light brown hair
and pleasant blue eyes that were ever friendly and warm. He had
forgone wearing his coat and opted for an open-necked shirt like
the one Eric wore. “I believe I should begin by apologizing for
myself and my brother. We seem to have put our manners aside and
shown you our baser natures. I apologize for anything offensive we
have said or done.”

Silvia was taken aback. She had not expected
an apology and she recalled that Roman, though granted adequate
opportunity, had not given one. Her face grew somber for a moment
and she saw Morgan’s eyes narrow speculatively.

“Perhaps we can begin again and be friends,”
she said at last, smiling.

Morgan grinned and breathed a sigh of
relief. He had such a sunny disposition that soon all three were
laughing at his jokes and animated accounts of his and Roman’s
adventures. Occasionally Silvia could feel the warmth of his gaze
on her and once or twice she intercepted a glance that was
decidedly intimate.

Martha, mindful of his purpose, gave her
encouragement.

“Since I’ll be busy this afternoon, Morgan,
perhaps you can find time to show Silvia the grounds. I’m sure she
would be delighted to get out of the castle and see more of
Schlange Island.” Martha’s voice was soft but her eyes sharp. “I
would accompany you myself,” she said to Silvia, but I must see to
the storing of the supplies we brought in yesterday. Things can
ruin if they aren’t stored properly.” Her delicate face bore a
slight smile as she glanced at Morgan.