Dark Splendor (20 page)

For a moment Silvia stared at him, seeing
the hatred that had wound its thorny vines around his heart. Her
face blanched as he lifted his thin arm and, with a shaking hand,
again pointed a finger at her.

“You, my dear, are my triumph. You will bear
me a grandson.”

Silvia’s face was pale and fearful. She felt
suffocated, her breath a ragged catch in her throat that would not
fill her lungs with air. Her mind raged in a bewildering tempest
that shook the very core of her being. The room around her was
silent, and in the void she could hear the thunder of her heart.
She gasped and her breath came back in a panicky rush. A moment
later Silvia heard her own voice, frail and frightened.

“How is that possible? Surely this poor soul
cannot father a child.”

“No, my dear. He cannot,” Wilhelm answered
with a malevolent grin. “But finding a substitute to father the
child should be no problem for you.” A yellow light shone in his
sunken eyes. “Not in this household.”

Silvia’s temper flared and she meant to defy
him any way she could. She gave a tight little smile.

“How could that satisfy you? The child would
not truly be your grandson.”

Schlange smiled peculiarly in return. He
answered without emotion.

“He would carry the Schlange name. Schlange
blood would flow in his veins. It will have to suffice. And I can
die having left an heir worthy of me.”

“I won’t do it,” she announced firmly. “No
matter what you say or do I will not be part of this scheme. I will
not bear a child to satisfy you. I will find a way to leave this
island and prove the truth. I’ll tell the others everything.” Her
heart lurched within her chest as she doubted her own words. “They
will help me.”

“My dear, do you think me a fool? They do as
I say. Just as you will.”

Silvia sobbed, aching as if part of her
heart had been plucked away. Was it true? Did they all follow
Schlange’s orders? Had she not found herself in Roman’s bed only a
few hours ago? She might already be carrying the child Wilhelm
Schlange would claim as his grandson. Surely Roman was not part of
this evil plan. Silvia choked on a sob and clutched at her throat.
Or was he? Had he arranged to have someone frighten her, knowing
she would run to his arms? “No, surely not,” she murmured sadly. It
could not be true.

“No?” Schlange mocked her, his patience and
his strength waning.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispered. “They
will help me when I tell them what you’ve done.”

“No, my dear. They will not,” he said
adamantly. “And you will say only what I instruct you to say. You
will bear a child within the year, and to all the world he will be
known as the grandson of Wilhelm Schlange. No one will know what
has been spoken here today.”

Silvia was clinging desperately to her
sanity and hope.

“You cannot hold me in this room, and when I
leave, I’ll tell everyone. Martha, the servants, your nephews.
Everyone!”

His eyes left her and went to his son.

“Willy!” he called loudly. “Come here.”

Willy jerked back as if he had been hit,
then slowly, obediently approached his father.

“Sit here.”

Willy crouched down and sat cross-legged on
the floor beside Schlange. He looked imploringly at Silvia, as if
pleading with her not to leave him alone with his father.

Silvia’s hands flew to her mouth.

From the pocket of his dressing gown,
Wilhelm produced a small pistol. Slowly he cocked the gun, a sharp
deadly click, and placed the barrel to Willy’s head.

“My dear, I have told you what I require,
and you have refused to aid me willingly. Now I tell you I will not
die in shame. I will not leave this dolt as heir to my fortune. I
will leave an heir worthy of the Schlange name or I will leave no
heir at all.”

Silvia’s mouth went dry. “You would kill
your own son?”

“Do you think I would not?” His voice had
turned vicious and his yellow eyes were cold as stone.

“Please. You must not do this.” She backed
away from Schlange until she reached the door. She had to get help.
The thought that he might shoot her fled quickly. Whatever the
consequence, she must get help. Her hands fumbled behind her for
the knob, but the door wouldn’t open. She whirled around, gasping
fearfully as she twisted at the knob desperately and beat at the
rough wood until her knuckles were bruised and throbbing. She
moaned. Vivien must have turned the key behind her, and there was
no escape.

Frantically Silvia faced Wilhelm again, her
heart nearly stopping. The old man had grown weary and the pistol
shook in his feeble grip, but his strange eyes still shone like
beacons.

“You have a simple choice, my dear. If you
value your life and his, you will do as I say.”

“I would rather die.”

“Yes, I think you might. But will you first
watch me kill this lad? Will you watch me fire the shot that ends
his life?”

“He is your son.”

“He is your husband. Would you see him
die?”

Willy stretched out his palms to her and
made a small choking sound. His lips were parted and quivering, his
eyes filled with terror. How much of his father’s threat did he
understand? It was the tragedy of his plight that wrenched Silvia’s
heart. She could not tear her eyes from Willy’s pleading face. He
was a helpless and pathetic sight, and innocent of Wilhelm’s
malice.

“No,” she said in a haunting whisper. “Leave
him be. I will do as you say.”

Smiling triumphant, Schlange pulled the
pistol away from Willy’s head.

“You are wise, my dear. In time you will
come to welcome the decision you have made.” He jerked the bell
pull and fell back weakly. “Now I am tired and Vivien will take you
to your rooms. Do precisely as she tells you and speak of this to
no one.”

Without hesitating, Silvia crossed the room
and took Willy by the hand, helping him to his feet. She forced a
weak smile to her face, and gently patting his shoulder, seated him
in a chair across from the settee. Willy clung to her hand like a
small, terrified child. Before she could say a comforting word to
reassure him, there was a thumping sound from Wilhelm’s
bedroom.

Startled, Silvia looked up.

“Is someone there?” she asked Wilhelm.

“The room is locked. Something must have
fallen. Go.” He gestured weakly toward his room. “See what you can
find.”

She obeyed reluctantly, walking slowly to
the arched doorway which led to his sleeping chamber. The room was
dark, with the draperies drawn and no candles lit. She moved
cautiously into the room and for a moment stood rooted to the
floor, looking around before daring to take another step.

She tried to determine the spot from which
the sound had come. Her nerves already frayed, she crept cautiously
around Schlange’s bed, scarcely able to see beyond the huge
high-backed mahogany frame which bore the Schlange crest on a
carved panel. Brocade fittings of black and gold hung open from the
high canopied top of the bed. The other furnishings, she noted as
she moved through the room, were also of ornately carved mahogany,
the upholstery of gold-and-gray-striped brocade.

Silvia stopped and braced herself with a
hand wrapped around the post at the foot of the bed. The room was
neat and clean, each item in place, except one. On the floor in
front of a night table lay a small silver frame.

Relieved, she picked up the object from the
floor. The little frame had a delicate scroll pattern and was only
slightly larger than her hand. She lifted it higher to catch a beam
of light that came through the doorway. It held a miniature
painting that was a family portrait. She knew at once the handsome
blond man was Wilhelm and she saw that even in his youth his eyes
had held a distinctive savagery. Beside him was a lovely
dark-haired woman. Magda, she supposed, before Wilhelm had driven
her mad. In her arms the woman held a beautiful child of about two.
Willy.

Shivering, Silvia ran her finger over the
edge of the frame, thinking it must be the only portrait in Serpent
Tree Hall. Perhaps even Wilhelm, for all his wickedness, harbored a
small fragment of sentiment, or perhaps, she thought with a shiver,
the portrait served to keep his hatred fresh. Taking a moment to
compose herself, she replaced the little portrait on the night
table and returned to the sitting room.

“What did you find?” Wilhelm asked
gruffly.

She had not succeeded in stopping the slight
trembling that shook her body. It sounded in her voice as well.
“Something had fallen from the night table.” She felt the quiver in
her throat as she spoke. “It must have been too near the edge and
toppled off.”

At that moment Vivien returned and the
interruption was forgotten. Silvia was anxious to get away from
Wilhelm, though she doubted the memory of his sinister face would
ever be erased from her mind. She thought dolefully that she would
never escape the terrible spell of gloom that had descended on her
world.

Schlange ignored her now as he issued his
instructions to Vivien, who nodded stiffly before ushering both
Silvia and Willy from the room. She led them along the corridor and
instructed Silvia to wait while she unlocked a door and took Willy
inside. Then she brought Silvia to her room, and making sure she
went in, left with a sharp reminder not to speak of her
conversation with Mr. Schlange. He wished to announce the marriage
to his niece and nephews in his own way when he was stronger.
Meanwhile Silvia was to continue as if the conversation had not
taken place.

Once Vivien was gone, Silvia rushed to the
dressing table and hurriedly took out the few papers she had
brought from London. Schlange had forgotten she held a portion of
the bond agreement. She took it and hid it beneath the mattress on
her bed. When the time was right, that precious document would
prove she had been the victim of Wilhelm Schlange’s evil
scheme.

Silvia declined to join the family at lunch,
and only after several hours could she make her way alone to the
rose garden. The day was hot and calm, the sun beating down on the
garden like a tyrant’s sword. An occasional blue-shadowed cloud
cooled the air, then dissolved into sunlight above her. Silvia
moved like a sleepwalker, hardly knowing how she had gotten to the
garden, so bitter were the blackness and sorrow in her heart.

Her face had become as pale as the white
rose petals, and tears streamed down her eyes like silver ribbons.
She had long ago given up dabbing at them with her lace-edged
handkerchief. She longed to see Roman but simply could not face him
with such troublesome doubts in her heart. A throbbing fear pounded
furiously in her mind, warning her he might be part of Wilhelm’s
wicked plan. And that, as much as all else, broke her heart.

She felt a light tap on her shoulder and
heard a deep, rich voice calling her name. Awakening from her daze,
she looked up, her sad eyes meeting the cheerful face of Morgan
Toller.

Seeing her stricken expression, Morgan
frowned suddenly and lifted Silvia’s chin with his finger.

“Now, what in a rose garden could bring
tears to those beautiful eyes?”

Her tears streamed anew and she sobbed
openly. Morgan, frowning, took a seat beside her and gently patted
her back. His touch was comforting and he consolingly pulled her
head to his shoulder to nestle against him. Her sobbing ebbed under
his tender ministrations. She sniffed, bringing the handkerchief to
her nose. Morgan’s shoulder was warm and his whispered words
soothing. In a few moments she had dried her tears and lifted her
head. Morgan smiled and obligingly took both her hands in his and
alternately drew each tiny fist to his lips.

“If I could kiss away your troubles, love, I
would do that. Will you tell me what has distressed you so? Has
Roman...?” He continued to hold her hands, squeezing them
gently.

“No. It has nothing to do with Roman. I...I
am homesick for London.” Her voice quivered.

How she wished she could confide in Morgan.
But she dared not trust Morgan, nor anyone else at Serpent Tree
Hall. Wilhelm had said they all obeyed his commands. Were they all
a part of his scheme? Had their friendships all been a facade? And
if they didn’t know Wilhelm’s plans, how would they react to her
once they learned she was married to their cousin?” Seeing the
kindness and concern in Morgan’s face, however, she could not
believe he would willingly hurt her.

But she had not believed it of Roman either.
She had gone to him for protection and then had surrendered herself
to him. Roman had loved her with endearments and gentle touches,
had seared her heart with his embrace. Doubts raged anew within her
mind. Had he seduced her at his uncle’s command?

Across the garden Roman lifted his head in
surprise. The scene he saw among the roses brought a grimace to his
face. He had searched the house and grounds looking for Silvia when
she failed to appear for breakfast. He had sent Anna to fetch her
from her rooms, and the girl had returned saying she was not in.
When she did not come down to lunch, he had asked Martha if she
were ill. Martha reported she had not seen Silvia since the evening
before. Finally, in desperation, he had gone to her door himself
and knocked, but got no answer.

Now he understood why he had been unable to
find her. She had gone from his arms into those of his brother.
Angrily he snapped a limb from a tree branch and flung it to the
ground. A nerve twitched in his temple. Silvia had captured his
heart as no other woman had done. He had thought her special. A
taste of metal filled his mouth. Bitterly he remembered the soft
look in her honey-drop eyes, the silken feel of coal-black hair
against his skin, and the stirring whisper of her voice in his ear.
She had been a virgin in his bed. That he did not doubt.