Dark Splendor (35 page)

Silvia’s eyes bordered with a threat of
tears. Only a tender heart like Martha’s could understand how
profoundly the tragedies of Willy’s and Wilhelm’s deaths had shaken
them all. What would Martha do if she knew Willy had indeed been
murdered? If she had to believe the deed had been done by someone
dear to her?

The blow would devastate such a gentle soul,
and Silvia could not place that burden on Martha. Not kind,
gracious Martha, who thought of everyone before herself. One day
Martha would have to know Willy’s death had not been accidental,
but the subject must be broached gently at some later time.

“I thought you might be asleep,” Martha said
smoothly. “Shall we go into your sitting room? I knocked there, but
you must not have heard.”

Silvia nodded and led the way from the
bedroom. Had that knock been the sound that disturbed her?
Possibly, but there was still the matter of the missing
necklace.

“I am sorry,” Silvia said in a low voice. “I
was getting dressed for bed. Were you waiting long?”

Martha beamed a soft, radiant smile and
pulled the cover from the tray.

“Only a moment. I just came up,” she
answered, taking a seat and daintily pouring a cup of tea for
Silvia.

As she took the cup, Silvia heard it clatter
against the saucer in her unsteady hands. Apologetically she
glanced up and saw that Martha had not poured any for herself.

“Won’t you take a cup too?”

“No. I had tea with Eric just a while ago.”
She sat back in the cushioned armchair. “He’s feeling as badly as I
do about neglecting you at this time.”

“Please, Martha...Silvia took a soothing sip
of the fragrant herbal tea. “You and Eric have made me feel
especially welcome since I’ve been here.” She set her cup aside,
her brows flicking up quickly. “These deaths have made us all
nervous. I hope I haven’t seemed ungrateful.”

“No. Quite the contrary. You’ve been a great
success as mistress of Serpent Tree Hall.” Martha watched silently
as Silvia drank more tea. “I was wondering, Silvia, what are your
plans now that Willy is gone?”

Her plans? Had she any plans? But of course,
she must make plans. She couldn’t simply wait and wonder what would
happen next. She couldn’t sit idly by and wonder when it would be
her turn to die. She must do something to stop this insanity, to
prevent another murder. Suddenly she felt very much alone, even
though Martha was with her. And her thoughts sped to Roman. If he
held even a budding concern for her, he would not treat her so
cruelly.

“I expect I’ll leave,” Silvia said bluntly.
“There is nothing to keep me here, now that Willy is gone.”

“But you can’t leave,” Martha said in a
distressed voice. “What about the estate?”

“The estate should rightfully belong to
Wilhelm’s niece and nephews. I make no claim on it. I intend to
take only what I need to live on until I can return to England and
open a seamstress shop. I can’t stay here. Not now.”

A look of relief spread momentarily across
Martha’s face, but she quickly composed herself. “Oh, Silvia. You
aren’t thinking clearly. I’m afraid it isn’t left to you to decide
who inherits. The will must be read before it’s possible to alter
its terms, if even then. One can only wonder what disbursements
Uncle made, considering the state of his health. He was not a
predictable man. No.” She sighed lightly. “I’m afraid it’s out of
the question, Silvia. You can’t possibly leave until the will is
read.”

“Then I hope the solicitor arrives soon.
This house is filled with sad memories for me. I am heartsick to be
constantly reminded that my coming here has been followed by grief
and pain for everyone. I want to leave as soon as possible.”

Martha took her hand.

“You mustn’t feel this way. We don’t want
you to leave at all. This is your home now as much as ours. Please
do stay.”

“Martha, I thank you, but it’s impossible
for me to ever be happy in this house. I’ll stay until the will is
read and the legalities are settled.” She sighed forlornly. No one
knew she would bear Wilhelm Schlange’s grandchild. No one but
Roman, and she doubted he would make mention of it. She doubted he
would mention her suspicions about Willy’s death. For now both
secrets were best kept. “But I warn you, I intend to leave
immediately after.”

“I hope you’ll change your mind and decide
to stay. In a few days things will be different. Your grieving will
ease, and perhaps you will find you can be happy on Schlange Island
forever.” Her eyes held all the softness of a balmy summer day.
“Now, drink all your tea. This has been a dreadful day. It will
help you rest.”

Martha left with a promise that tomorrow
they would talk again. Silvia set her teacup down. It was making
her drowsy and she didn’t want to fall asleep yet. There was
something she must attend to before morning, and she would need to
be alert to do it.

It had occurred to her only moments ago that
the hiding place for the documents must be in the tower. That was
the one part of the castle she had not searched, for the doors were
always locked. Vivien had said the stairs had been made too steep
and they were dangerous, so Wilhelm had had it closed off. But that
must have been another one of his clever ruses. She should have
thought of it before. The journal would be in the tower. She
remembered having seen a light in one of the tower rooms the night
she arrived, so someone must have been in there that night,
probably watching for her.

***

It was well past midnight when Silvia crept
out of her room. She had nearly dozed off while waiting until
everyone was asleep. Even now she was groggy and found it difficult
to keep her balance. But determination drove her forward even
though she could scarcely stand. The candles in the hall had been
snuffed out and she had to feel her way in the dark. Her small,
shadowy figure slipped silently through the halls until she reached
the doors to Schlange’s sitting room. She had searched there once
before and satisfied herself that the journal had not been returned
to his room. But she did remember having seen a ring of keys among
his things.

If only her head wouldn’t throb so, she
could remember where. She fumbled about, careful not to make a
sound. By chance she came across the keys in a compartment of
Wilhelm’s desk. Quietly, holding them so they would not jangle, she
slipped them into a pocket of her robe and smiled slyly at her
accomplishment. She was certain one key would fit the tower
door.

A quarter of an hour later, Silvia had
clumsily tried five keys before finding the one that turned the
latch on the tower door.

The stairs were indeed steep and treacherous
and slick with rain that had blown in during the storm. Vivien had
been right about the danger. The narrow steps curved sharply and
had too much incline on the risers to climb quickly. Along the way,
a series of landings led to open, arched windows where the stones,
wetter than the others, were especially slippery.

Her head spun crazily but still she kept
climbing. She had almost reached the top, but her eyes kept
blinking shut—too heavy to keep open. Her breath came in slow,
wheezy gasps. She pushed away the damp curls that had fallen in her
face. With each movement her legs wobbled and she had to
concentrate on lifting her feet from step to step until at last her
movements became as slow and lethargic as those of a snail. And yet
she climbed on, clinging to the damp walls of the tower. Slipping
and catching herself, she plodded ever upward, telling herself over
and over she had to keep going. From below she heard a dull
sound.

The noise was an unexpected thump, as if
someone on the stairs had lost his footing and slipped on the wet
steps. She spun slowly to look down, and in turning, lost her
balance, her body swaying wildly. Gasping aloud, Silvia grabbed
futilely for the wall as her legs weakened and gave way. An instant
later she lay crumpled in a heap, dangerously close to a window
opening. She moaned and started to get up, but her legs would not
respond. Her breathing slowed, and as she struggled to rise, her
eyes closed to thin cracks.

A dusky veil of sleep slipped over her. The
heaviness of it was unbearable. Above her she saw a face globed in
purple and heard a low whispering voice that faded into a long,
empty darkness.

“You are mine now, sleeping lady,” came the
ghostly sound that oddly brought no echo from the hollow depth of
the tower.

A moment later a rippling purple shadow
enveloped Silvia and transported her to a place she had never known
existed.

The cold lapping of the sea on her face
brought her to consciousness. No, not the sea, only water splashed
against her whitened cheeks. She moaned, finding herself in a world
that was a hazy blur. Even as she fought to remain awake, her eyes
resisted staying open. Someone bent over her and she felt the cool
touch of a hand on her forehead.

“What’s happened to me?” she asked in a weak
whisper. “Who has brought me here?”

The reply was soft as a caress. “One answer
at a time, my lovely sleeping lady. The first I cannot tell. I
found you unconscious on the tower stairs.” His fingers stroked her
temple. “Have you a fear of heights?”

“No,” she whispered. “I was so terribly
tired, I had to stop and rest just for a moment.” Her eyes rolled
back and she moaned softly. “Couldn’t stay awake,” she mumbled,
growing drowsy again. “Can’t see clearly. Tell me who...” Her voice
trailed off.

She forced her heavy-lidded eyes open. The
voice was one she knew. If only he wouldn’t whisper and sound so
far away.

“You know me, surely.” His answer floated
around her head; his fingers trailed like feathers over her cheek.
“We have met before in the darkness. Do you remember?”

With a toss of his head, the purple hood
fell open and revealed a portion of his features. She saw the
ghostly glow of his spirit’s face, there and not there.

“Siegfried?” The name flew from her lips in
a breathless whisper.

He smiled softly and with a chuckle got to
his feet and stood over her.

“I am whoever you wish me to be, whatever
you wish me to be.”

Silvia blinked her eyes, squeezing the lids
down and holding them shut a moment before opening them again. Her
head was clearing a little. She felt more drunk than faint, not an
unpleasant feeling, but rather a wonderfully euphoric state of
semisleep.

Hesitantly she caught his cloak and gave it
a gentle tug. He turned and knelt beside her. Slowly her hand went
out to push the purple hood from his head. It fell away, and she
was blinded by the strong sapphire glow of his eyes. A flowing
crest of pale hair hung to his shoulders like strands of spun gold.
Her fingers caught the tie that fastened the cloak at his throat,
and she pulled it loose so that the cloak too fell away.

He was an eidolic man with skin of warm gold
that heated her fingertips as she trailed them from his throat to
his chest.

“Hold me,” she whispered.

“Do you know me?” he asked, softly touching
her face.

“I know you in my thoughts and in my heart.
It is enough,” she answered in a gentle whisper.

His lips were at her temple, soft and
vaporous as a cloud moving over her face, until his mouth covered
hers. It was as if that joining transformed her phantom man to
flesh and blood. She felt his warm, moist breath mingle with her
own. Her arms wrapped about his neck, touched his back, and felt
the power and strength in shoulders that were suddenly real.

“Love me,” she whispered.

“I have loved you,” he answered, “since the
moment I saw you.” He nestled her head snugly against his chest,
his hands and face buried in her fragrant black curls. When he
spoke again his voice was a tender whisper. “Since the moment you
brought me to life, I have loved and wanted you as mine alone.”

Suddenly his arms were around her, gathering
her to him, his broad bare chest pressing unbearably at her
breasts. He lifted the ebony curls from her neck, kissing her
throat and reveling in the soft, sweet womanly smell that clung
intoxicatingly to her skin.

“And I have loved you as well,” she
murmured, and smiled as he lowered her to the cushions of the
settee, his strong purposeful fingers plucking at the ties that
held her robe and freeing the bows that held it together.

The hot flood of blood rushing through her
body had cleared the cobwebs from her mind. For the first time she
was aware of the room, its walls a circle of rosy red velvet, the
furnishings all gilt and ivory lit with the shimmering light of a
dozen candles.

“What is this place?” she asked
dreamily.

He had bared her breasts and was easing the
fleecy robe from her slender arms. His eyes and his senses were
fully upon her, feasting on the beauty of those glorious orbs.

“Paradise,” he whispered, his breath ragged
in his throat, a sudden shudder shaking his wide shoulder.

Silvia saw the sparks of blue flame building
in his smoldering eyes. He soon cast his breeches aside and
entwined her in a gentle grasp. Her head rolled back limply, and
she was being lifted, carried while her consciousness descended
into bliss. As she moaned her pleasure, a tawny head dipped lightly
to meet her lips in a brief kiss.

Golden eyes shone with a soft, honeyed light
as he whirled her about, and a surprised gasp slipped quickly from
her still moist lips.

Set squarely in the center of the floor and
dominating the circular room was a massive postered bed hung with
curtains of rich rose-colored velvet. The monstrously beautiful
piece had a canopied pagoda top that nearly touched the ceiling,
and plush side hangings that swept the carpeted floor.

He balanced her gracefully on his knee while
his arm went out to draw a velvet curtain at one side of the bed.
Hurriedly he turned down the rose silk coverlet, revealing the
smooth satin sheets underneath.