Dark Splendor (33 page)

Tonight was particularly dreary and foggy
and the air uncomfortably cool. Yet Silvia felt compelled once
again to search Schlange’s library, still hoping to find a secret
panel or hidden compartment, possibly concealed among the books.
Once more her quest left her empty-handed and disappointed, and she
returned to her own chambers tired to the point that sleep evaded
her and she lay awake until sunup brooding over the hopelessness of
her circumstances.

Consequently she arrived at breakfast the
same morning somewhat red-eyed and not at all refreshed by the few
hours of rest since she had given up her search for the night.

Eric, Roman, and Morgan sat at the table
tight-lipped. Only Martha showed any sign of good spirits. There
was a heavy cloud hanging over them all, an unspoken threat that
all might experience a great upheaval in their lives once the
solicitor arrived and read Schlange’s will. It was not Silvia’s
imagination that they had treated her politely but coolly since
Wilhelm’s death.

Silvia had not been able to relax completely
since she had overheard the conversation in the smoking room, and
had kept to herself except for the time she devoted to Willy.
Lately it seemed even the friendly spirit of Siegfried no longer
sought her company.

A tense mood prevailed until the meal was
ending and Vivien hurried in, breathing rapidly and obviously
agitated. She stopped short of reaching the table and addressed
Silvia demandingly.

“Where is Willy?”

Silvia looked up, surprised. “Why, I don’t
know. I haven’t yet seen him this morning.”

Lines of worry cut into Vivien’s long face.
“He wouldn’t go out without you.”

Silvia was wondering how Willy could have
left his room and where he might be, when Odin burst through the
back gate of the courtyard carrying his tragic, soggy bundle.
Vivien was the first to see.

Her scream was one of agony, and in her
startling rush to the door, she upset a chair and sent it crashing
to the floor in her wake.

“Oh, Willy! My Willy!” Vivien cried,
throwing open the French doors and flying into the garden.

Silvia’s face blanched as she pushed her
chair back and jumped to her feet. She could see that the sodden,
drooping bundle Odin carried was Willy’s lifeless body.

“Willy!” she screamed, and forcing strength
to her legs, followed Vivien into the garden.

Vivien, in her anguish, clutched the
water-swollen face to her own and tried to wrest Willy’s limp body
from Odin’s arms.

Martha was by Silvia’s side, her face
suddenly pale with shock, but she managed clumsily to put a bracing
arm around Silvia’s shoulders.

“Oh, dear God, his face,” Martha cried. “Is
it Willy?” she asked, hugging Silvia to her.

The men came up to assist Odin.

“Let him go!” Roman caught Vivien and pulled
her away.

She was like a big black spider clinging
desperately to Willy, holding and hugging him as if she could put
life back in him. She fought Roman like a wild thing, her fury and
grief giving strength to her spindly arms and legs. It took
Morgan’s assistance to keep her under control, but even when they
had stilled her frantic struggles, the screams and cries
persisted.

“Put him down here.” Eric helped Odin lower
the body to the ground and stripped off his shirt to cover poor
Willy’s grisly face while he sent the black man inside to fetch a
blanket.

Vivien hushed when Willy was covered. But
her black eyes turned to glowing red coals burning with the fire of
hatred. The full heat of her fury was directed at one person. Like
a magnet, the direction of Vivien’s eyes seemed to draw the stares
of everyone to Silvia.

“It was you!” Vivien raged. “You took him
there. You! You let him drown.” She pulled an arm free and pointed
it like a thin scepter at Silvia. “Or if the truth be known, maybe
more.” Her voice dropped as her eyes burned brighter. “You killed
my Willy. My sweet, precious Willy.”

Silvia felt suspended, frozen with horror.
She couldn’t keep the trembling out of her voice.

“No,” she whispered. “You know it isn’t so,
Vivien. You know it isn’t so.”

“Vivien.” It was Morgan’s voice, sounding
calm and cool and so strange, joining the frenetic exchange. “It
was an accident. Silvia had nothing to do with it.”

Vivien eyed him savagely. “She killed
him.”

***

Another funeral followed that of Wilhelm
Schlange, and another grave was dug. Two smooth mounds of earth now
marred the quiet little glen. And Willy, poor innocent Willy, who
had watched from the hillside as his father was lowered into the
earth, now rested beside the old man he had feared.

Blinking rapidly at the bitter tears in her
eyes, Silvia dropped a red rose on Willy’s grave and then retreated
to the shadowy darkness of the trees. The night was cool and windy.
An evening mist had lingered like a floating veil over the floor of
the glen, and now it crept snakelike up the hillside and in among
the trees where Silvia wandered blindly toward the little pond
where Willy had died.

How could it have happened? Willy would not
have gone near the pond alone. He feared the water far too much to
have gotten close enough to fall in.

The rustle of the leaves above her made a
sad, whispering melody in the night. She thought she heard the echo
of her footsteps far off in the trees and cupped her ears to
listen. It was unbelievable but true. Willy had been killed, and
someone had tried to kill her. She pulled a lacy black shawl over
her head and around her huddled shoulders to ward off a chill as
her mind wandered where it would. She had accomplished nothing by
staying on Schlange Island to protect Willy, and Vivien had been
right to blame her. Willy would still be alive and safe if she had
not become his wife.

As she came out of the forest, she saw the
pale moon ringed with a promise of rain. It was a bad omen.
Silvia’s mournful face grew pinched and frightened and she couldn’t
crush down her heavy feeling of apprehension. She had enemies and
they were not just shadowy spirits and fears spun from an
overactive imagination. Her enemies were real and deadly.

Nearing the pond, she stumbled onto the
fog-obscured rock that had been Willy’s resting place. Shivering
irrepressibly, she stopped and dropped down on the rough wet stone.
The sound of footsteps continued. Her heart pounded loudly and then
grew still. Why had she foolishly come out in the darkness alone so
far from the house? She was completely defenseless.

The footsteps grew louder and more rapid.
Silvia crouched down, praying the darkness and fog would shield
her. But the moon picked that moment to escape the boiling black
clouds.

“Why have you come here?” Roman stood before
her and in the moonlight he had a strangely troubled look in his
eyes. “It’s where Willy died.”

Silvia stood, her face pale and her lips
tremulous.

“I know,” she answered breathlessly, her
eyes darting away from his. “We used to walk here. Willy liked to
sit on this rock and look at the pond.” Silvia trembled and looked
around uneasily. It was impossible not to be suspicious of
everyone, even Roman.

He came toward her and unexpectedly seized
her wrists, holding them firmly. Silvia cried out in surprise.
Again the sky turned dark as big ragged clouds moved across the
face of the moon and obscured its sanguine flame.

Roman looked at her coldly.

“Vivien holds you responsible for his death.
She thinks you killed him.”

The flush that had flown to her cheeks
retreated. “She said as much.”

“Why would she think it?” Roman stepped
forward a pace and took a seat on the rock, pulling her down beside
him. There was a curious glow in his eyes, as if he knew more than
he revealed. “Was it because he had the face of a monster? Is that
why she thinks you wanted him dead?”

“He wasn’t a monster,” Silvia protested.
“Only a child with a face he couldn’t help having.” She gave a
little shudder as Roman’s eyes searched past her face.

“Then why?” he demanded.

“Because it’s true,” she said briefly, the
blood bursting in her head. “Though not in the way she means. If I
hadn’t come here, Willy would be alive.”

“Willy had been dead for hours when Odin
found him. He must have gone out alone in the night and somehow
fallen in the pond.”

Silvia sighed deeply.

“No. He wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t
have come here alone.”

“No?”

“No. He was terribly afraid of the water.
This rock was as close as he would go to the edge.” She cautiously
raised her brows. “Someone would have had to bring him here and
force him in the pond.”

Roman’s eyes narrowed.

“You are saying Willy was killed. But not by
you.” His hands were bruising her wrists.

“No. Not by me.” A flood of sudden fears
swept through her. But he was killed by someone. Someone who had
known of their visits to this place. Someone who had known Willy
would be gentle and docile and easily overpowered. Someone who
stood to gain by Willy’s death. But who? “Do you believe me?” she
asked weakly.

She could feel the savage crush of his hands
grasping her arms.

“I don’t know what to believe,” Roman said
swiftly. “I only know it wasn’t you who came here with him last
night.”

“How could you know?”

“I know a few of your secrets, just as I
know there’s much more about Willy than bears telling. But never
mind that. I came here to warn you Vivien is talking of making
charges against you.”

“Why should you care what happens to
me?”

His eyes were stormy and dark and the anger
in them frightened and confused her. She turned her eyes away,
feeling her breath come unevenly as she heard him answer.

“I have a stake in what happens here, and
just now it all seems to be tied to you. Until I unravel the
mystery, it’s to my advantage to keep all possibilities open.”

It was evident where his heart lay, she
thought gloomily. Not with her. And rightly so. She had spoiled
things for him too. She might have cost him what was due him from
Schlange’s estate. Silvia found herself more sad than frightened,
feeling she had lost Willy and more. Irrevocably she had broken
Roman’s peculiar code of honor in a way he could never forgive. She
felt a great welling of weariness and despair and her voice
quavered with the feel of it when she spoke.

“Then you are concerned for your
inheritance?”

Roman saw her bite her lip and saw the agony
in her white face. He answered bluntly. “I have given it a thought.
If Willy were murdered, it was because of the inheritance. And one
of my dear cousins or my brother is responsible.”

“Or yourself.” Her voice was the slightest
whisper.

He stiffened.

“There is that possibility,” he agreed.

His fingers moved lightly up her shoulders
where little loose curls trailed light as floating thistledown. She
had such an innocent face looking up in the moonlit darkness. He
struggled to control the intense desire he felt for her, and
failing, found his fingers resting around the silken column of her
throat while his thumbs stroked that softest spot beneath her chin.
Roman closed his eyes against the battle raging within him. His
body ached for her, his mind wanted to push her away. Unbidden, one
strong hand eased back to lock around her nape, tilting her head
back, and suddenly all the lovely moonlight was in her face.

She heard his labored breathing mingle with
the night sounds of chirping crickets and croaking frogs and the
faint stirring of leaves. He had the power to arouse, with a
glance, passion’s fires within her. As his fingers stroked her
throat, her body warmed and began to tremble beneath his gentle
caress. The lavender scent she wore, fired to life by her passion,
rose up to envelop them with its softly pungent fragrance. Her eyes
meeting his with wonder, Silvia gave an inarticulate little cry,
reminding herself it meant nothing, nothing at all that his lips
were coming down on hers.

The sweet, liquid call of nightbirds rang
out of the darkness and Silvia’s heartbeat joined the song.

His kisses rained down warm on her mouth,
feeding some hunger in them both and passing them into a dream
world where doubts and suspicions strangely blossomed into passion.
Soft, stroking fingers caressed the silken skin of her cheeks, then
slipped away and downward. His trembling hands freed her breasts
from the confining gown and Silvia’s eyes closed in captured
ecstasy as his hot breath and devouring kisses sent shivers running
down her spine. His hands traced her body freely, finding their way
beneath her skirt, touching her thighs and buttocks. With a jolt,
he pulled her tightly against him and once again his lips were upon
hers.

Each kiss was more fevered than the last,
until they merged into one lasting, fiery joining of trembling
mouths before the two of them sprang suddenly apart.

With a roar, the wind whipped up, blowing in
a threat of rain. Angry waves ruffled the black surface of the pond
and the trees bent under the blast. Silvia’s skirts whipped about
like a ship’s sail in a storm. She moaned, her lips bruised and
swollen, her limbs weak and quivering. Roman’s arms were still
curled around her waist, but his face had grown sardonically
cold.

“I’ll get you inside,” came his flat, remote
voice.

“Oh, Roman,” she whispered unsteadily as her
hands moved on his chest, sliding gently over the soft linen shirt.
He pulled away from her.

What was it she saw in his blazing eyes? Not
tenderness, not warmth, yet suddenly her heart was turning over in
her chest.

“And that, love, is comfort for a grieving
widow.”