Dark Splendor (25 page)

Silvia defiantly lifted her face and said
levelly, “He is my husband. Am I to have no say in his care?”

Schlange’s eyes roamed deliberately over the
rich dark mausoleum that was his sitting room. He had insisted
Silvia visit him daily, sometimes demanding that she wear the
necklace. On those days his eyes would grow even wilder and she
would feel her throat burning with the heat of the Cerastes Stone.
It was Wilhelm Schlange’s way of maintaining the level of
intimidation that would keep Silvia under his control. In time she
had come to realize the purpose of the daily audiences and
approached them with veiled resentment.

A part of each morning she spent with Willy,
first reluctantly at Schlange’s insistence. Soon, though, her
visits to Willy became a welcome part of her day. She had grown
piteously fond of the young man. She no longer saw the hideousness
of his face but instead saw a childlike longing in his eyes that
wrenched her heart. And when he clung to her hand she wanted
desperately to bring a smile to his sad face. But most of all, the
loneliness in his downcast eyes when she left him made her decide
to question his confinement. She knew it would be a battle.

Silvia wrung her hands nervously until at
last Schlange rested his eyes on her, a hard mask of annoyance on
his face. “He is to see no one.”

Her own features held a look of unexpected
defiance. “You mean, of course, no one is to see him,” Silvia
persisted. “The fresh air would do him good.”

“It is out of the question,” Schlange said
shortly, then broke into a spell of coughing. “If one of his
cousins should see him, it would ruin everything.” He dropped back
in his chair, obviously angered and exhausted by her demands.

In the weeks since announcing the marriage,
Wilhelm had come downstairs only a few times. Today he looked paler
and more tired than usual, and for a moment she felt a pang of
guilt for distressing him.

“You have upset the boy.” Vivien angrily
poked a finger at her. “He is no longer content with his
activities.” She turned her outraged face to Schlange. “Somehow she
has put ideas in his head. He sits all morning and watches the door
until she comes in, then flies to her as if she were the one who
had always cared for him.”

“You’re jealous, Vivien. Jealous because he
shows affection for me.” Silvia’s eyes flashed agitation. “Neither
of you is concerned for Willy’s welfare. You, sir, think more of
your pride than your son.” Her cheeks flooded with color but she
fought to remain calm. “Let me take him into the garden. It would
do him a world of good. We could go out when everyone is away from
the house,” she pleaded. “You would be amazed at the change it
would make in his health. Willy is far too pale. He needs the
sun.”

“He has the small garden. It is enough,”
Vivien said wrathfully. “I take him there.”

“That cage!” Silvia smoldered with
anger.

An outdoor stairwell led from Willy’s
bedroom to a walled garden below, in which the only open area was
latticed overhead by bars almost entirely overgrown with a tangle
of thick green vines. The damp, moldy enclosure was filled with the
stench of decaying vegetation. High walls were covered with the
layer of green moss that soon claimed any island structure not
regularly scrubbed, and vines had long ago blocked out the
sunlight. What might have once been a pleasant little garden was
now more like a dank tomb. It was a cheerless spot, and Willy,
whose sensitive nature easily reflected the mood of his
surroundings, was reluctant to go there.

“He’ll not go out and I’ll hear no more of
it.” Schlange’s gray-streaked brows pulled tight. “I advise you to
be more concerned about the edict you seem to have dismissed from
your mind, and less about fresh air. A walk in the garden will
matter little to anyone if you do not shortly attend to our
bargain.”

Silvia’s eyelids fell. Schlange, even at his
weakest, wielded his wrath like an angry quirt. Silvia knew from
the venomous look in his eyes that she had said enough. But she had
one other request, since he had denied her the first.

“Then allow me to prune the vines and
replant the small garden so that the sun can come in. Let me make
it a haven for Willy and less a prison. Willy could help me. He
would like that.”

“No!” Vivien stormed. She was on her feet,
backbone rigid and her waspish face set in a vicious
expression.

“How can you refuse?” Silvia’s voice
quivered and her luminous eyes implored Schlange. She was furious
that she had to beg him to attend to the needs of his own son, and
furious that Vivien’s jealousy overshadowed Willy’s happiness. It
would be good for Willy to do something useful. She herself
abhorred the endless afternoons. She had found her fingers could
not settle down to do needlework, nor could she concentrate enough
on reading to get past the first page in a book.

It was possible that Willy would develop
sufficient skill at gardening to be allowed to attend to other
parts of the estate. But that was not to be broached at present.
She had learned today that she must proceed slowly if she were to
make any progress on Willy’s behalf.

Schlange leaned back, surveying Silvia with
his yellowish eyes. The shrewdness in them never failed to startle
her. Silvia pressed her hands to her heart. How could this ill old
man strike such sudden terror in her? She watched him silently. But
as swiftly as it appeared, the anger went out of his expression and
he chuckled with slow relish.

“You have grown genuinely fond of the boy,
haven’t you, my dear?”

“I care for him.”

“She interferes,” Vivien said pettishly.
“You must put an end to it.”

Schlange rolled his eyes back and smiled
indulgently. His fingers tapped out a slow rhythm on the wooden arm
of his chair as he made a clucking noise. Vivien paced the room,
her cheeks sucked in so that her face looked more angular and harsh
than ever.

“Enough, Vivien,” he snapped. “You cannot
live forever, any more than I. Who will see to the boy when you are
gone?” He saw the flash of surprise in Silvia’s eyes as she
realized the truth of what he was saying. His cruel gaze impaled
Vivien as she too caught his meaning. “Let her learn what must be
done. Willy must trust her just as he does you.” Slowly his
wrinkled, sallow face turned toward Silvia. “I see no harm in
restoring the garden. Proceed with it. Let Willy help.”

“Thank you, sir.” Silvia’s expression
softened a little and the flush began to fade from her cheeks. Had
she managed to coax a bit of fatherly feeling from his stony heart?
A little seed of hope sprouted within her. One small gain might
lead to others.

Vivien stopped her erratic pacing and stared
at Schlange unbelievingly. She audibly drew in her breath, as she
whirled to leave the room, gave Silvia such a sharp, hateful glance
that she was suddenly, soberly aware that she had made an enemy not
to be underestimated.

Silvia’s doleful eyes went back to Schlange.
Abruptly her brows flicked up. She gasped silently as she saw the
truth before he voiced it. She had been wrong to think he could
care. Wilhelm Schlange hadn’t a particle of tenderness in his
heart.

He spoke in a cold, insolent tone that made
it difficult for her not to tremble. “Don’t mistake compliance for
softness, my dear. The more you feel for the lad, the more certain
I can be you will do what you must to spare him harm.” The gnarled
old hands rested in his lap, the cadaverous, bony head jutted
forward on his thin neck, and a misty yellow glow shone from his
eyes. Silvia felt a shiver of alarm running through her flesh, but
some horrible fascination kept her eyes linked to his. “Heed this,
my dear.” His voice dropped to a low, menacing tone. “My patience
is limited. Do not let many weeks pass before you bring the news I
require. Give me my grandson.” He lifted a hand and made a
dismissing gesture. “Now, go. Attend to your garden.”

***

“Would you care for tea now?” Martha’s
musical voice rose soothingly in the still air of the rose-colored
parlor.

“Yes, a cup of tea is just what’s called
for,” Silvia said, surprised at how much better she felt as soon as
she had left Wilhelm’s presence. He made her feel as if her mind
were coming unhinged. Had it not been for Martha’s friendship these
past weeks, she would have found life unbearable. And yet she was
also grateful Schlange’s nephews had been largely occupied with
business. They had been away a good part of the time, visiting a
nearby island. It was their plan to arrange for other planters to
use the Schlange cane mills, and much work was required to secure
the contracts needed.

Silvia sighed deeply and took a sip of tea.
“How considerate of you to take tea with me each afternoon and to
instruct me so thoroughly on the household affairs. I would have
been months learning the workings of it all without your help.”

“Nonsense. It is the least I can do.” Martha
sipped her tea slowly. “This has been a trying period for you,” she
remarked, shaking her head. “Uncle is undoubtedly a worrisome
father-in-law and Willy a difficult spouse.” Her eyes grew wide
with a look of concern and understanding. “Poor Willy must have
inherited his father’s pride and temperament, or he would surely
try to live normally.” Her head tilted slightly to one side. “It is
the Schlange curse of stubbornness that makes him want to defy the
world because of his infirmities.” Making a little clucking sound,
she set her cup aside, her mind obviously concentrating on another
topic. “You look tired, Silvia. Aren’t you sleeping well,
dear?”

Silvia hesitated a moment. She couldn’t
truthfully say she wasn’t sleeping well. If anything, she slept too
well. Recently she had begun napping late in each afternoon. Sleep
had become a welcome escape for her and she willingly sought the
euphoric peace she found as her mind made the journey from
consciousness to slumber. She would whirl gently through tunnels of
swirling mists, descending always toward a soft, sunny light that
promised happiness. Odd, she couldn’t remember now if she ever
reached the light. She remembered, though, that as she floated
down, she would be wondrously divested of her burdensome thoughts
and troubles.

She had a bit of that peaceful feeling now
as she sipped her tea and talked with Martha. Somewhere, from a
cloudy memory recessed in her mind, she recalled other parts of the
dream, a peculiar fluttering of the velvet wall hangings and
touches soft as dewdrops on her face.

Absently Silvia studied her reflection in
the still dark surface of the tea. She saw the faraway look in her
drowsy golden eyes. A lilting sigh sounded from her lips as she
remembered faintly the shadows and sounds and the dark figure that
appeared silently in her dreams almost every night.

“Is something wrong?” The smile left
Martha’s lips and her probing eyes intently watched Silvia’s
face.

Silvia flinched and raised her head quickly,
conscious as she did of a sudden wind outside the window. She had
let her mind wander, and the confusion of those memories remained
even as she tried to force a smile to her lips. One image from the
dream would not free itself from her mind, that of a shadowy shape.
She had vividly dreamed of it weeks ago, but until this moment had
never remembered it quite so distinctly. She shook her head trying
to stir her mind to wakefulness. Dared she tell Martha of her
earlier dream?

“Tell me what has distressed you,” Martha
said reassuringly. She watched Silvia curiously; not at all sure
she was well. She smiled and gently took the teacup from Silvia’s
trembling hands.

Silvia bit her lip nervously and spoke
haltingly. “You said once there were ghosts in the castle,” The
briefest flicker of hesitancy sparked in her eyes, but she went on.
“I thought you were only relating a colorful legend. Now I wonder
if it isn’t true.”

The wind picked up, blowing in the dark
clouds of a summer storm. The room grew dark with the onset of a
sudden premature dusk as windows banged and curtains billowed
wildly into the room.

Martha’s hand went quickly to her throat.
“Then you’ve seen them?”

Silvia was startled to see the color leave
Martha’s face. “No,” she answered hastily. “I haven’t really seen
anything, I’ve only sensed someone, something in the darkness.”
Rising quickly, she flew to the windows and shut them against the
large pelting drops of rain. Silvia turned about, her voice now a
whisper. “But when I light a candle and look, no one is there.”

“One of them has singled you out.” Martha
seemed strangely alarmed and laced her fingers together tightly.
“If only we knew what he wanted.” She looked grimly at Silvia. “You
must be careful until we know if the spirit is charitable.” Her
voice faltered and broke. “You must be very careful.”

“Martha, surely you don’t mean...”

But Martha had risen hurriedly and was
hastily returning the teacups to a tray.

“I must get these things to the kitchen,”
she said breathlessly. “You will excuse me now?”

“Of course.” Silvia shuddered at the last
glimpse of Martha’s pale face. She wouldn’t have thought Martha
believed in ghosts. Yet fear had drained the color from her
friend’s skin. Ghosts. Hadn’t she herself felt that same tinge of
fear in the library and in the solitary blackness of her room? In
the ensuing excitement, Silvia had ignored previous disturbance,
yet now she remembered them all too keenly.

With troubled thoughts she returned to the
Emerald Suite, thankful Anna had had the foresight to light
candles, though even they failed to brighten a room under the dark
spell of an afternoon storm. She sat a long while watching jagged
flashes of light threaten the soaked earth and listening to the
angry rumble of thunder. At last she could bear it no more and went
downstairs to wait in the dining room until the dinner hour. But
Martha had succumbed to the oppressive mood of the storm and taken
one of her violent headaches. The men had gone for supplies early
that day and Silvia didn’t expect them back for the evening
meal.