Dark Splendor (9 page)

Silvia gave them little notice as she
passed. With her eyes cast downward and her thoughts in a
meditative whirl, she was only slightly aware of her surroundings.
Walking along, lost in her tumbling thoughts, she had nearly
reached the stairs when she looked up, and curiosity, like a balm,
overcame her consternation and indignation at Vivien’s
pronouncement.

She had passed many rooms with closed doors,
but none had piqued her senses until she saw the one with
beautifully inlaid patterns of exotic woods. An appreciation of
craftsmanship and the contrasting colors of the ornamental woods
drew her eyes and attention. She stopped to examine more closely
the dark paneled double doors, which were open just a crack.

The inlaid alabaster serpent design and
elaborate gold serpentine door handles indicated something special
rested behind the dark panels. Her fingers touched and caressed the
smooth glistening wood as she debated with herself if she should
look inside. It was as much a surge of defiance at being left alone
and bewildered as it was curiosity that eventually tempted her to
peek.

Hesitating only a moment, she gave a gentle
push to the door and eased it open a mite. Inside, the draperies
had not yet been drawn open and the room lay shadowed with
darkness. She could see graceful half-columns flanking a carved
marble fireplace directly across from the door. The room was long,
stretching at least fifteen feet on either side of the fireplace.
Walls of gleaming wood were lined from floor to ceiling with rows
of bookcases filled with countless leather-bound volumes. Near the
fireplace was a large desk, its polished top cluttered with paper.
Also, arranged about the room were reading tables and several
comfortable-looking chairs.

It was a library, possibly Mr. Schlange’s
private library. But there certainly appeared to be nothing
extraordinary about the room. And yet, entranced, she gazed inside,
feeling mysteriously compelled to enter and see what the shadows
hid.

Silvia was undecided for a moment and turned
her head to look down the hallway in both directions. Observing no
one, she pursed her lips thoughtfully, eased the door open a little
more, and slipped inside. She pushed the door back so that it was
nearly closed as she had found it, once again shrouding the room in
darkness. Hurriedly Silvia made her way toward the windows to open
the draperies and let in the light.

Vivien had said she could do as she wished.
A book would help her to pass the time peacefully until Mr.
Schlange was better. And there was, she thought smiling hopefully,
the chance of finding a clue to indicate Mr. Schlange’s purpose in
bringing her to his estate.

She fumbled around the edge of the
draperies, her fingers noting the contrasting smoothness and
roughness of the rich brocade. After a moment of searching the deep
folds of fabric she found and wrapped her hands around the sleek
twisted cords which controlled the heavy panels. The soaring
windows were twice her height and the weighty draperies yielded
reluctantly to her tugs on the cords. She settled for opening them
only partway.

When there was enough light to read the
titles on the books and to see the papers on top of the desk near
the fireplace, she stepped back and fastened the cord to its hook.
But at once a strange, cold shiver shook her shoulders and she
looked around with a sudden start. Clutching her arms to her bosom,
she had an eerie feeling someone was watching her in the now dim
light of the room.

Turning slowly toward the door, she saw
them, a dozen or more people standing against the inside wall where
they had been hidden from her eyes as she entered the room. Silvia
froze as she stood, her mind burning with confusion and fear. Why
were they standing there in the darkness? Why hadn’t they spoken?
Why did they all just stare at her?

Stumbling back a step, she clutched at the
drapery, pulling it open a little more and causing a ripple of
light to splash across the angry, ghostly white face of the man
nearest the door.

“No,” Silvia gasped. The upraised hand
wielded a broad-bladed sword aimed squarely at her head. With
another gasp Silvia plunged away from the window. She ran wildly,
bumping into chairs and tables, hearing the clank and clatter of
objects striking the floor behind her as she sought to escape her
pursuer. Limbs quaking, she took refuge behind the tall back of a
chair, a spot from which she could see the tightly closed hallway
door. She felt the sinking of her heart; she was certain she had
not closed it completely.

Not daring even to breathe, she forced
enough courage to peep over the back of the chair and toward the
man with the sword. Her hands shook violently as she watched in
fascinated horror as the feathery plume on his hat flittered and
stilled above his head. Cautiously she sank down behind the chair
once again, her heart beating in her chest like the flailing hooves
of a racing horse.

Her throat was dry and scratchy. She fancied
she could hear the slow dragging steps of his approach and said a
silent prayer to brace herself against the assault. Horror drained
the blood from her face and left her limbs limp and weak. She eyed
the window, thinking that if she could get back to it and open the
lock, she might be able to escape. Silently Silvia gathered her
skirts in a bunch and held them clear of her feet as she crouched
down and began to slowly edge her way toward the window, taking
care as she went to stay hidden behind the tables or chairs.

Closing her eyes, she tried to halt her
rapid breathing as she reached the halfway point, but could not
calm herself as she heard the heavy thud of footsteps following her
path. Her limbs stiffened in fear as, slowly, quietly, she backed
away from the sound. In her ears, her own heartbeat drummed so
loudly she was unaware she had crashed into a low smoking table
until her legs gave way with the impact and she went sprawling on
her backside.

The scream that issued from her mouth was a
muffled sound which died as her heart seemed to stop beating. In
her mind’s eye she could see the sharp blade of a sword rending her
in two. Gnawing at her lip, Silvia shut her eyes and waited. A
moment later, even through closed eyelids she was aware of light
flooding the room. Her eyes burst open to see Roman standing beside
the window, a grin spread across his face at the sight of her with
legs draped across the overturned table, skirts and hair in wild
disarray.

Across the room she saw a row of statues
lined up like army troops on a parade ground. Each was completely
outfitted, some in clothing from another century; men and women
with stone faces who looked as if at any minute they might walk out
and sit down to tea. Silvia sighed miserably. The clothing made
them look terribly real.

“What on earth?” she whispered, flushing
with embarrassment and feeling totally foolish. Her eyes shifted to
Roman and she saw that his grin had broadened.

“That’s what I wondered when I heard someone
bumping around in here.” Eyes sparkling facetiously, he glanced at
the statues, then at Silvia. “Are you all right?” he asked, barely
concealing the laughter in his voice.

“Yes,” she answered sharply, disentangling
herself from the table as he approached and extended a hand to help
her to her feet.

She hesitated a moment before accepting his
assistance, but thinking she might not be able to rise without it,
gave him her hand, only to be startled by the warmth of his touch
and the strength he used to pull her easily upright. With a
flourish she shook out her skirts and looked around for the
tortoiseshell combs that had fallen from her hair which was left
tumbling across her shoulders. Retrieving one, she tucked it in her
pocket and continued to look for the other.

“Are you alone?”

“Of course I am,” she responded hotly,
straightening up and shaking the hair out of her eyes.

“Then what in blazes were you doing in here
in the dark?” He leaned down and set the table upright, then moved
away to retrieve and replace the curios and objects she had left
askew in her flight.

“I was getting a book and didn’t
know...”

“About our ancestors?”

“Is that what they are?” Her eyes scanned
the figures again. “What an odd way to display one’s heritage.”

“Uncle has never claimed to be ordinary. If
you don’t know him, I think you will find him an unusual man given
to many eccentricities.”

“I can only say he has been extremely
generous and thoughtful to me.” She reached behind her head with
both hands, catching her loose hair and forming it into a knot.
Holding the bun with one hand, she reached to her pocket for the
comb to secure it in place.

Roman was by her side in an instant and
quickly caught her wrists, holding them like fragile flower stems.
“Leave it loose,” he said softly, the light in his eyes waxing
warm.

With deliberate slowness he pulled her hands
to his chest and took the comb from her. Her hair, freed, spilled
like falling water over her back and shoulder. Spellbound, Silvia
stood without moving as Roman reached for a strand of her dark
locks and ran the little tortoiseshell comb through it. She felt a
gentle tug as he slowly twisted the strand in his fingers. He stood
so close she could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing while
her own grew erratic and shallow. Her eyes searched his face in
disbelief.

Smiling, he held her hair to his lips,
brushed it against his cheek. “The lavender fragrance becomes you,”
he whispered. “So English, like you are, hearty yet sweet and soft
all the same.” With calm aplomb he made fine courtly bow and
stepped back, dropping the silken strand of her hair.

Silvia watched, stunned and speechless.
Roman Toller had inordinate good manners when he chose to use them.
And now he was bathing her in compliments when she had come to
expect only barbs of ridicule from him.

“Would you like to ride with me this
afternoon?” His voice had returned to a normal tone as he neared
the door. “Since we’ll be living in the same house, perhaps we can
get on better terms.”

“Yes. I’d like that,” Silvia responded,
unconsciously touching the strand of hair he had held and feeling a
little twist of excitement in her stomach. “I’d like that very
much.”

“Fine. Come to the stable an hour after
lunch.” His hand was on the door and his face had a surprisingly
temperate look. “I’ll have a horse saddled for you. Oh...and,
Silvia...”

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget your book.” He stepped away
quickly, leaving the door ajar and leaving Silvia totally
bewildered.

It was the first time he had spoken to her
other than in tormenting taunts, and it left her feeling
lighthearted and gay. In spite of her reservations about Roman
Toller’s character, he had set her heart in a merry spin. She
forgot, like a bad dream, the misunderstanding about who she was.
For now she was a girl in a beautiful dress in a beautiful house
and she was free to do as she wished. And she wished to go riding
with Roman.

Silvia moved to the bookshelves with a light
step and ran her fingers over dozens of leather-bound volumes. Mr.
Schlange had an extensive collection, all the classics and notable
authors of the day. Yet she could not recall later the titles she
had looked over. After a time she randomly picked one from the
shelf and took it to a chair, where she made herself comfortable.
She had been reading several minutes, though mostly lost in a
romantic daze and not truly seeing the words, when Martha entered
the library.

“Is that a new English fashion, wearing the
hair loose?” she asked lightly.

“Oh no!” Silvia answered a bit too quickly.
“I’m afraid I tumbled over a table in the dark and it fell free.”
Her cheeks reddened slightly and she looked away from Martha. “I
simply haven’t taken the time to put it back.” Smiling softly,
Silvia closed the book and rose from the chair. “I believe I’ll
take this up to my room to finish.” Clearly Martha, too, had
decided to treat her as an equal, and Silvia had no propensity to
disavow her elevated status.

Martha watched her carefully and made a
cursory glance around the library.

“You’ve seen the statues, of course. They’re
Uncle’s indulgence,” she said, moving toward the likeness of a
woman. “This is Magda.” Her fingers touched the gown of pale green
silk which adorned the statue. “She was Uncle’s wife, the one Eric
made such a fuss about at breakfast. Though, it was a brief
marriage, I understand. Magda died a few years after they were
wed.” She paused. “She’s been dead nearly thirty years and Uncle
rarely speaks of her.” Martha turned to smile sweetly at Silvia.
“But I’ll leave the family secrets to Uncle. Anyway, none of us
really knows how she died.”

Her curiosity piqued once more, Silvia
lowered her book to the seat of the chair she had occupied and
walked to where Martha stood. Magda’s stone-white face had features
similar to her own, but she found herself hoping her eyes did not
have the same haunted, vulnerable quality. Somehow the sculptor had
captured in Magda’s face a look of hopelessness that gave the stone
features a certain fragility. She couldn’t help wondering what had
brought the look of despair to Magda’s long-dead face.

“She was beautiful,” Silvia said softly.

“Yes. Like you,” Martha responded, her eyes
glazed and her voice sounding as if it came from a distance. She
blinked and a faint smile lifted her lips as the sparkle returned
to her eyes. “But enough about Magda. Why be melancholy?” Her voice
regained its gaiety. “Let me tell you about the others.”

Martha began at the far end of the row,
giving Silvia a colorful family history. And when she came to
Aurelius Schlange, the statue with the sword, she pointed him out
as a pirate.