Dark Splendor (19 page)

Silvia’s eyes glistened with tears. She
didn’t know what to make of Wilhelm Schlange, but she ached for
Magda’s pain, for Schlange’s blindness to his wife’s love, for the
loss a stubborn old man could not admit. He selfishly blamed Magda
for the unhappiness he had brought on himself. Yet he struck a
chord of pity in Silvia’s heart. She stifled a sob that brought a
shudder of sadness to her chest. Schlange had grieved for thirty
years for the loss of his wife and son. Her tears fell unchecked
and she searched her pocket for a handkerchief.

“You lost them both,” she said in a
quavering whisper.

“No, my dear.” Schlange smiled. “I have my
son.” His eyes narrowed and glowed fiendishly. “Little Willy. Your
husband.”

Silvia could see nothing but the burning
yellow-green of Wilhelm Schlange’s eyes. She shivered violently and
her harshly indrawn breaths brought a sharp pain to her chest.
Swallowing a wave of sickness, she gasped and wrung her damp hands,
feeling too weak to rise to her feet and flee. The madness of his
words rang in her ears like a loud clanging bell.

What was to become of her? Mr. Schlange was
demented. He imagined her to be his dead wife, Magda, or the wife
of his dead son. He had no son. Vivien or Martha would have
mentioned a son. Perhaps he had never had a son. Cringing, she
placed a trembling hand over her lips.

“Have I frightened you, my dear?” He had
taxed his strength and his voice was now a weak hiss. “You still
think me mad. I assure you I am quite sane. It is only this
pitiable body that defies my will.”

It took all Silvia’s stamina, but she
gathered what courage she could to answer him.

“I think you are ill and confused, sir, to
mistake me for your son’s wife. I am Silvia Bradstreet, indentured
to your service for a term of five years.”

Schlange leaned forward, taking from the
table a leather sheaf from which he removed a bundle of papers. The
effort cost him much of his remaining strength and his face turned
bluish as he gasped for breath. When he had rested a few minutes he
broke the black wax seal on the papers and opened them up.

“You are Silvia Schlange, my dear.” He
thrust the papers to her. “You will recognize your handwriting on
the certificates of marriage.”

Silvia took the papers, as much to appease
him as to see what madness he was expostulating. She glanced
suspiciously at Schlange before dropping her eyes to the
document.

“This isn’t true!” Silvia exclaimed in
disbelief. A sob caught in her throat and she felt as if the breath
were being squeezed out of her. “How have you done this? And why?”
she shouted, springing to her feet.

Schlange smiled, seeming to have gained
vigor from her distress.

“My dear, it is no dishonor to be mistress
of Serpent Tree Hall. I believe you have already found it to your
liking. I am told you have grown fond of leisure and luxury and of
the attentions of my nephews. Indeed you have it within your reach
to become the toast of the colonies, to visit your England as a
lady of wealth. Does that appall you, my dear?”

Nervously Silvia rubbed together hands that
had grown suddenly cold. She answered in a low, frightened
voice.

“Mr. Schlange, the fact remains that these
documents are not legal. Your agents must have tricked me into
signing them when I thought I was signing copies of the bond
agreement. Whatever your intention, they are not valid.” She turned
away from him, wanting to avoid the gleam of those terrifying eyes.
When she spoke again it was in a near whisper. “Sir, I am not
convinced you have a son at all.”

He answered quite calmly. “My dear
daughter-in-law, the documents are legal, duly witnessed and
registered, signed in your own hand, as any court will verify.
There is no record of a bond agreement ever having existed.”

She whirled around, her face ashen. “What
could you possibly want from me?”

The light in his eyes quickened. His hand
fastened around a tasseled bell pull at his side and he tugged it
three times. Then he sank back on his pillows to rest. He was tired
and didn’t try to speak again for a few minutes. Silvia’s
reproachful eyes filled with tears. Schlange’s lips twitched in a
semblance of a smile as they faced each other in silence until a
light knock sounded at the door. Presently it swung open and Silvia
saw that Vivien had returned. She felt a surge of reassurance in
her heart. Vivien would know how to handle the old man.

“You have him?” Schlange asked weakly.

“He is here,” Vivien answered.

“Come here, my dear, stand beside me,”
Schlange said softly, gesturing to Silvia.

She obeyed, wondering, as she took a place
near him, what strange hypnotic quality made her do as he said.
Some intuitive prodding told her she did not want to hear what he
would say next. Yet she stood quietly and obediently by his side,
awaiting her fate. Her shock had turned to dread, and she closed
her eyes, praying she was in a dream that would end when she opened
them again.

Strengthened, Schlange propped himself up
more. Silvia heard the door shut. At last her anxiety could bear no
more strain and she opened her eyes. She felt her spine go rigid,
and at the same time her jaw slackened and her mouth fell open.
Across the room she saw a dark-haired man standing with Vivien, his
back turned to Silvia. Abruptly she glanced at Schlange, and as she
did, felt an uncomfortable twist in her stomach. Schlange’s sharp
eyes were trained on her face.

The thin lips twitched and then moved in
speech. His eyes were brighter than flames and there was something
terrible about the look on his face.

“Silvia, my dear, I present to you your
husband.” His voice rang out, amazingly clear and arrogant. “Willy,
come across and meet your bride.”

Silvia had been struck dumb, senseless,
turned to ice. She watched Willy slowly make a half-turn toward his
father. For a long minute his gaze remained locked with Vivien’s as
if they communicated in some unspoken way. In profile, Silvia saw a
face as handsome as any she had ever looked on. Willy was tall and
slender, with hair blacker than midnight. Even from a distance she
could see he had the peculiar yellow-green eyes of his father. He
looked to be about thirty, but though she could see only part of
his face, there appeared to be an odd childlike quality to it.

Vivien’s arm at his elbow, Willy turned
fully toward them and moved haltingly in their direction. Paralyzed
for a moment, Silvia wanted to scream, but no sound would form on
her lips; instead she drew in a breath so sharply and deeply her
lungs felt as if they would burst. She heard, as if from far away,
Wilhelm Schlange’s rasping laugh.

Life came back to her with a jolt and a
burning flush in her cheeks. She made a faltering step backward.
The side of Willy’s face that had been hidden from her view looked
as if it had been pounded with a rock until the bones were crushed
and broken. The skin there was a fiery red and crisscrossed with
scars that rose up like angry welts in his flesh. Only his eye had
been spared the disfigurement. He looked at her now, his gaze
capturing hers with its strangeness. A slow, questioning smile
spread across his lips.

“No!” Her hand fluttered to her heart. “This
is lunacy! You cannot mean it.”

“Calm yourself, my dear.” Schlange was
smiling, his eyes fevered with excitement. “Willy is fond of you,
you can see.”

Willy’s smile had become the simple
delighted grin of a child. She looked at his grotesque face and saw
the simple innocence in his wide eyes. Poor Willy was a child-man,
an unfortunate boy in a disfigured body that had outgrown his
mind.

“Leave us, Vivien.” Wilhelm’s voice bore an
autocratic power that even his sickly body could not undermine.

Vivien’s eyes darkened and she glared
speculatively at Silvia before exiting the room. In that instant
Silvia knew a feeling of dreadful menace she had never before
recognized. She bit the back of her hand, hoping the pain would
halt the helpless, weak feeling sweeping through her. Wilhelm’s
eyes narrowed and his face bore a wickedly triumphant
expression.

“You will see, my dear. It will not be a
difficult task. You will be his wife in name only. My son is a
harmless simpleton, both docile and dumb. In time you will grow
accustomed to his ugly face. You need not see it often. It will be
enough for you to visit him now and then. The boy will not hamper
your activities.” He laughed wickedly. “You will be mistress of
Serpent Tree Hall. Every luxury you desire or could dream of having
will be yours. All that is here”—his voice rose and he made a
sweeping gesture with his arm—”is yours to use as you wish.”

Dismay made her voice tremble, but she had
to challenge his claim. She fought the breathless, faint sensation
that weakened her legs and made her shake. She must think logical
thoughts and speak to him with reason behind her words.

“Sir, I acknowledge your generosity.
However, I submit that no marriage took place, and despite your
offer of luxury and riches, I would choose my own husband. My uncle
in London will testify that a marriage did not occur. You have
brought me here by deceit and therefore have no right to hold me to
our agreement.”

Wilhelm fell back against a pillow, smiling
his infuriating smile, looking as if he found a perverse pleasure
in the exchange.

“Silvia, child, my solicitors can produce
witnesses who will swear a wedding by proxy took place in London
and will insist the bride was happy and willing.” He drummed his
gnarled fingers on the back of the settee. “As for your uncle, he
is at this very moment opening a fat purse in the Hare and Hound
and bragging about the splendid match his niece has made, and of
the generosity of her husband.”

Silvia’s brows lifted faintly as she took a
quick gasp of breath. There were no flaws in his madness, but she
could not give up trying to persuade him he was wrong. She brushed
angry tears from her cheeks, and when she spoke, her voice was
tightly controlled.

“You cannot keep me here against my will. I
will never acknowledge marriage to this man. That, you cannot make
me do.”

There was a mirthless twist to his lips that
gave his sunken cheeks an even more unnatural appearance. He liked
her spirit, though in the end it would profit her nothing. She
would bend to his will just like everyone else. An odd, slightly
eager look lit his eyes in delight.

Schlange’s instinct for judging people had
never failed him, and this young woman would not be the exception.
He had noted with satisfaction the look of pity in her face when
she glanced at Willy. A hoarse chuckle sounded gruffly from his
throat. He had an innate talent for finding the weaknesses in
people, and he had already discovered hers.

He lifted a frail arm and stabbed a finger
at her.

“My dear, I remind you that this entire
island belongs to me, as well as all who are on it. Not a ship
sails in or out of the harbor without the Schlange flag. You are,
if you wish it, a prisoner here, and you will do as I say.” His
voice was hard and menacing, as cold, mocking triumph shone
brightly from his eyes. “I have made you the bride of my son and
you will acknowledge it before the world.”

Tension tightened her shoulders. Still, she
lifted her chin proudly and her nostrils flared in defiance. She
wouldn’t give in. She wouldn’t let him have his way so easily.
Silvia gathered her courage and spoke in a calm quiet tone that
belied the fear and anger knotting inside her.

“Please...” She swallowed and tried her
voice again. “Tell me what you hope to gain by this pretense of a
marriage. Willy is a child. What purpose can it serve except to
satisfy the ravings of an old man?”

Schlange folded his arms over his chest. His
face gained color and his eyes glowed savagely.

“Have you not guessed, my dear? You
disappoint me. I have a son who is no son. I have the wealth of
centuries at my hand, and death calling at my door. For three
hundred years there has been a Serpent Tree Hall, and the Schlange
name is known through all Europe.” He raised his voice and went on
staunchly, eyes resentfully on Willy. “My ancestors built an empire
in Germany. Each generation has handed it down larger and richer to
the next. I have surpassed them all in adding wealth and holdings.
Am I to pass my empire to a mindless monster, a shell of a man I
have kept hidden for decades?”

Silvia’s face went white.

“If not to Willy, then to whom? Your
nephews?”

“No! To a Schlange.” He pointed sharply at
Willy.

“He might have been a fine son, one I could
look on with pride, but for his mother’s insanity. She carried him
in her arms when she threw herself in the water and ended her
life.” His sickly face contorted with the rage he had harbored
almost three decades. “She wanted to rob me of my son. She said I
had emptied her heart and she wanted me to know that emptiness
every day I lived.” Schlange paused to ease his labored breathing.
An indescribable grimness showed on his pale face. “Better he had
died. The fall nearly tore his face away. But worse, it injured his
brain, and his mind ceased to grow beyond that of a child.”

Willy’s eyes clouded with fright at
Schlange’s menacing tone, and he backed away from his father.
Silvia’s heart ached for him. She saw poor Willy’s loneliness and
fear masked behind his pitiable ruined face. How cruel his father
had been to keep him locked away all those years, to be ashamed of
his son, to hide him from the world, and to deny poor Willy a
father’s love.

“He is Magda’s vengeance,” Schlange said
with a horrible smirk to his mouth. “She has cursed me with a son
who cannot honor the Schlange name. I have nephews, my sisters’
sons, who are a hundredfold the man my son is. But they do not
carry the name of Schlange.” His thin lips tightened and his hands
shook angrily. “Magda laughs from her grave. But I will not die
until I have bested her.”