Dark Splendor (8 page)

“I’m Silvia Bradstreet.” Silvia’s heart gave
a great jump as she felt the stares, but she was pleased that her
voice did not quiver and betray her nervousness.

The Tollers were seated looking as if they
belonged, Roman holding the hand of a beautiful blond woman.
Evidently the four of them knew each other well. She was relieved
to see two additional places set at the table. One at the head
where a thronelike, high-backed armchair covered in gold damask sat
empty. Mr. Schlange’s, to be certain. The other, surely for her,
was nearer the other end, directly across from the woman and beside
the man she had not met. At least Vivien had not misled her that
she was expected for breakfast.

The four of them rose and Martha spoke
first. “We didn’t know if you would come down this morning, so we
didn’t wait, I’m afraid.” Martha’s voice was light and sweet as she
walked swiftly toward Silvia. “I’m Martha Muller, Mr. Schlange’s
niece, and this is my brother. Eric.” She took Silvia’s hand and
squeezed it warmly. “Please do call me Martha,” she added
quietly.

“Thank you, Martha,” Silvia murmured
uncomfortably. Why must she continue to feel like a bird in a trap
when they were welcoming her so politely?

Eric joined them and bowed graciously. “I’m
pleased to meet you, Miss Bradstreet. Uncle had told us so little
about you. Now that you’re here, you can answer all our questions,”
he said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. “You know my
cousins Roman and Morgan Toller, of course.”

The Tollers stood at the table. They bowed
almost in unison and. Silvia thought, a little reluctantly on
Roman’s part.

Her answering smile was only a flicker. She
could not restrain the shock that drained her face of color. The
Tollers were Schlange’s nephews. Would they be staying? Of course,
she thought sagely, her skin seeming to prickle all over. They
would not have traveled all the way from England for a brief stay.
She chided herself for her worry. It was of no consequence to her
if they did. Her obligation was to their uncle, and she expected
after today she would have little contact with the Tollers.

“Please be seated, Miss Bradstreet.” Eric
took her arm and escorted her to the table, not wasting any
appreciative glances as his eyes assessed her quite frankly.

Silvia glanced questioningly at the empty
chair at the head of the table.

“Uncle’s place is always set, but he won’t
be joining us this morning,” Eric said matter-of-factly, though as
he spoke there was a restless energy about his movement.

Nervously Silvia moistened her lips. When
she and Martha were seated, the gentlemen resumed their seats as
well.

Eric’s eyes were boring into her, his brows
drawn together as if he were trying to remember something.

“So that’s it. Magda,” he cried, flinging
himself back against the chair. “Don’t you see it?” He gestured
wildly at the others, insisting they all look at her. “My God,
she’s uncommonly like Magda. Look at her face.”

Silvia’s eyes widened, her lips quivering a
little. She was uncomfortable enough having breakfast with a table
full of strangers without all their attention focused on her.

“There is a small resemblance.” Martha said
blandly, though she too looked calculatingly at Silvia. “But hardly
enough to warrant an outburst.”

Silvia stiffened. What on earth were they
talking about? She didn’t like being made sport of, and now
everyone was staring at her. Martha’s eyes gleamed like dark
lights, as if she were stripping away flesh to expose Silvia’s
soul. Eric’s blazed excitedly yet shrewdly, and he was measuring
everyone’s reactions.

The amused look had momentarily left
Morgan’s eyes and now there was a glint of wonder in their blue
depths. Only Roman’s eyes lacked curiosity. His simmering glare
roamed over her figure, and one side of his mouth twisted into a
smile. An invitation issued from his dark, insolent eyes.

“Please,” Silvia said sternly. Bond servant
or not, she didn’t like being treated rudely.

“We are behaving badly,” Martha said
sternly, and gave a disapproving glance to her cousins and brother.
Hastily she poured a cup of tea for Silvia, but though she smiled
and appeared calm, a slight rattling sounded when she lifted the
saucer to pass it along. “Silvia’s just arrived at Serpent Tree
Hall, and instead of treating her graciously, we’re gaping like
magpies.”

“Remember, Eric,” Morgan started up, “none
of us has ever actually seen Magda.”

“We’ve seen her likeness a thousand times in
the library,” Eric sputtered, roused to indignation. “You fitted
that dress on her yourself, Martha.”

“Yes, I did, but, Eric, a stone figure is
hardly the same, and we have only Uncle’s description of her eyes
and hair.” She shook her head and laughed softly.

“You won’t convince me I’m not right,” he
replied querulously. “Let’s let Silvia tell us who she is and why
she’s here.”

Silvia had stood all she could. It would
have suited her better to have been moved in with the servants,
where she would not have been regarded as an object of curiosity.
This waiting to learn what her duties were was beginning to grate
on her nerves, or maybe it was just the way Roman and Morgan Toller
were looking at her as if they were enjoying her discomfort.

Surely they had something better to do than
intimidate a new servant. She wasn’t listening to them any longer,
as a slight frown stole onto her face. This wasn’t where she
belonged, not with these spoiled, impudent people. She hoped to
have an audience with Mr. Schlange right after breakfast. Perhaps
he would send for her; if not, she would ask Vivien to arrange
it.

Eric’s persistent voice broke into her
thoughts. “Silvia, Miss Bradstreet, don’t keep us at bay any
longer.”

A suggestion of annoyance hovered in her
eyes. Silvia dabbed at her mouth with a linen napkin before folding
it beside her plate. She spoke with a note of coolness in her
voice. “Actually, there’s no mystery at all, I’m a bond servant
indentured to your uncle and a seamstress by trade.”

Martha’s mouth gaped open and there was a
tiny twitch of her brows. Eric’s forehead furrowed deeply as he
exchanged a baffled look with Martha.

Roman and Morgan seemed intent on returning
to their interrupted breakfast.

Suddenly Eric began to laugh. “You’re
evening the score at our expense. A bond servant indeed!” His
laughter had a sharp edge which perturbed Silvia more. “Martha,
she’s set us back a step or two.” His voice had risen an octave and
his face reddened as he laughed.

“I assure you it is no joke,” Silvia
responded, dismayed. Her small hands gripped the edge of the table
so tightly her fingers cramped.

“I’ll wager you’re a long-lost cousin, some
relative of Magda’s, and that’s what this mystery is all about,”
Eric murmured. “That’s Uncle’s surprise. He’s put you up to keeping
quiet about it until he’s ready to make the announcement.”

“I assure you I don’t know who this Magda
is,” Silvia said wrathfully. “I am a servant and nothing more.”
Indignantly she rose from the table. “Your cousins can attest to
the fact. We traveled on the same ship.”

Eric looked crestfallen. “Is that right,
Roman? Is she a bond servant?”

For a moment Roman studied her intently, his
eyes dark and hooded. A smile flickered on his lips as he lowered
his voice to sound deliberately mysterious. “Now that I think of
it, she did say she was a bond servant.”

Eric threw up his hands and sighed.

Roman tossed his head back, an aloof smile
on his lips. “However, we have only her word for that. The bond
servants traveled in the hold, and Miss Bradstreet had a private
cabin. Very private—that, Morgan and I can both attest to.” He
laughed wickedly.

Silvia’s face flamed and she whirled about.
He had deliberately twisted his words to make it sound as if she
had scandalously entertained them on the ship. Nothing could be
further from the truth.

“What’s this?” Eric looked at her
enigmatically.

Roman’s laughing eyes raked over her
critically and beamed his approval of his fine joke. She wondered
how he had the nerve to look at her that way and behave as he did.
The man was incorrigible. Martha watched Roman from the corner of
her eye and with a vague hint of disapproval on her face.

Quickly she was up and at Silvia’s side.
“Eric. That’s enough,” Martha said firmly, taking a sisterly hold
on Silvia’s hand. “Come with me, Silvia. We’ll take a stroll in the
garden and leave those rogues to their revelry.”

Silvia welcomed any escape and docilely
followed Martha through the French doors and into the garden. They
walked silently for a few minutes until they were some distance
away from the men. As the smell of roses grew stronger and sweeter,
Silvia felt her agitation begin to dispel. She smiled lightly as
tiny blue butterflies rose like clouds out of the bushes. By the
time Martha stopped beside a stone bench with a backdrop of
blooming oleanders, she was feeling much better.

“Let’s sit,” Martha said cheerfully. “We’re
going to be friends, I’m sure.”

The fresh air improved Silvia’s spirits even
more. She liked the garden with its exotic plants and a profusion
of lovely flowers. It was impossible to stay angry among so much
beauty. Martha’s sweet face held a look of sympathy and
understanding. In response, Silvia relaxed her own strained
features and settled her skirts about her on the bench. Martha
wanted to be her friend and she truly hoped there would be at least
one person at Serpent Tree Hall she could trust and confide in.

“You musn’t mind them,” Martha began, her
eyes beautifully serene. “It’s always like this for a few days
after someone arrives. We so rarely see anyone, and Eric gets
terribly excited about things.” She patted Silvia’s hand
consolingly. “My brother is generally a quiet man. No doubt he’ll
soon apologize for his outburst,” she added. “Eric likes you. I can
tell.”

“Thank you, Martha,” Silvia said wearily.
“I’m afraid it all upset me badly. But at least you seem to
understand how difficult it is coming to a new land and not knowing
what it will be like or what reception you’ll get.”

“Of course I do. It was hard for Eric and me
to come here, but Uncle insisted. And now it’s home for us. You’ll
come to like it too.” An expression of satisfaction showed in her
eyes. She leaned nearer Silvia and whispered, “I know about the
secret. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

A secret? Silvia wavered a moment, totally
bewildered and wondering what to say. When she spoke, her voice was
shaky and a little impatient. “I really don’t know anything about a
secret.”

Martha looked briefly disappointed. “Very
well then,” she said softly. “We’ll forget about it. But you must
tell me all about yourself. About your home in England and about
your family. I want to know everything.” She smiled
encouragingly.

It was easy talking to Martha and responding
to her lighthearted questions. Almost before she knew it, Silvia
had told about her childhood and how her parents had been killed in
an accident and about her Uncle Hollister and how she had decided
to come to the colonies as a bond servant. She did purposely leave
off, however, telling about her encounter with Roman on the
ship.

“So it only remains for Uncle to say what he
intends doing with you,” Martha said at last, her voice odd, yet
gentle.

A sudden breeze swept in and blew an
escaping curl over Silvia’s forehead. Absently she brushed at it
with her hand. Martha’s words rang in her mind and she felt
remotely as if she had just waked up. Martha made it sound as if
she were a sacrificial lamb and Wilhelm Schlange held the
knife.

Standing at a window across the garden she
saw a dark figure, just a black shape except for the hawkish face
and cold eyes. Suddenly it occurred to Silvia that Vivien was the
only person at Serpent Tree Hall who knew Schlange’s purpose in
bringing her here.

She excused herself to Martha and hurried
across the courtyard toward the open door where Vivien waited
silently.

“I must see Mr. Schlange right away,” Silvia
said breathlessly. “It’s urgent. There are things I have to
know.”

Vivien’s face remained expressionless and
Silvia could imagine her standing still for hours in the same
maddening way.

“That is impossible. Mr. Schlange is
extremely ill. It will be several days before he is well enough to
see anyone.” Her colorless lips hardly moved when she spoke, nor
was there a flicker of emotion in her voice.

“Then maybe you can tell me?” Silvia asked
hopefully.

“I can tell you nothing,” Vivien answered,
her voice flat and remote. “Mr. Schlange will tell you everything
in time. Until then you are free to do as you wish.”

Silvia’s lip dropped, and while she touched
a hand to her heart, Vivien turned and in a moment vanished as if
she were made of smoke.

Perplexed, Silvia started up the long, cool
hallway toward the staircase at the front of the house. Vivien’s
sallow face and polite reticence had made her blood pump heatedly
through her veins and filled her with an overwhelming desire to
vent her opinions on someone. Yet it was the acute hopelessness of
her frustration that made her notice how unnaturally quiet the
castle was. Such a place should be teeming and throbbing with the
noisy sounds of daily activity. But as she moved through the long
and empty passageway, she neither saw nor heard anything to
indicate another person was astir.

Rough-hewn gray stone, fitted so tightly a
crack could not be found, formed both the inner and outer walls of
the castle and made the arched ceiling overhead. Tall open windows
allowed free circulation of air and an infusion of light into the
grayed interior, which had a simple beauty all its own. Spaced
between the windows like silent sentinels sat marble busts placed
on sturdy mahogany pedestals.