Dark Splendor (18 page)

Silvia was glad Anna was vivacious this
morning. The plump woman deposited the breakfast tray and hurriedly
began to prepare the hip tub for Silvia’s bath. Anna hummed a
little tune, one Silvia remembered from childhood, and the cheery
melody helped to lighten her mood momentarily. But by the time she
sat down to the tray Anna had placed on the little table by the
window, her dread had returned and she could scarcely eat a bite.
Anna worried over her and fussed that she would be weak as water if
she did not consume more than a few forkfuls.

Finally she did manage to eat a respectable
amount, more to placate the doting Anna than to satisfy her
appetite. But it was the warm, soothing bath that calmed her most,
that and Anna’s careful brushing of her hair. When she’d donned the
dress Vivien selected and was sitting in front of the mirror, Anna
returned to comb her hair and quickly secure it in a braided bun
laced through with tiny white ribbons.

“I could have done better with more time.”
She sighed and patted her handiwork. “But it looks lovely just the
same.” Anna smoothed a ruffle of lace that edged the neck of the
green lawn gown Silvia wore. “If there’s nothing more, I’ll be
leaving, miss.”

Silvia twisted her neck to see the effect of
the hairstyle. Another time she mightn’t have liked it, but it did
seem to add a maturity to her looks. She welcomed the aid of
anything that gave even the appearance of a courage and strength
she did not feel.

“No. That’s all. Thank you, Anna,” Silvia
said politely. But when Anna was gone, she put her hands to her hot
cheeks. She was unable to calm herself. What a torment it would be
to lose it all now. The Emerald Suite, the gowns. Roman. No. She
was being foolish. They had never been hers. And those things
mattered little. It was only Roman she cared about. He would help.
Nothing bad would happen. Why, Mr. Schlange might even release her
from her bondage when he learned of their feelings for one
another.

It was on that note that Silvia was able to
relax a little. She soon heard Vivien’s flinty voice calling her
name, and feeling a bit more lighthearted, she rose and went to the
door.

Vivien regarded her surreptitiously for a
moment, then said firmly, “He will see you now.”

“I am ready,” Silvia answered without
conviction.

She had longed for this meeting when she
first arrived, even asked for it. Now in spite of reassurances to
herself, she found she dreaded the confrontation and the
uncertainty of what it would bring. Her heart pounded fitfully in
her chest as Vivien led the way through the long halls to a back
section of the castle.

It seemed they would never stop walking when
Vivien paused in front of a massive door where coiled serpents of
brass formed knobs. She knocked, her hand making a hollow sound on
the heavy door. Silvia stood behind her, coldly apprehensive.
Vivien waited a few seconds, but without hearing a response from
inside, turned the brass knob and swung the door inward.

The heavy smell of camphor and other
medicines hung in the still air. The draperies were drawn but the
room was well lighted with a dozen or more candles. It was a large
sitting room with furnishings in dark carved mahogany and with the
serpent-tree motif evident in almost every quarter. Silvia had
become accustomed to seeing the family crest everywhere, but that
did not prevent the shiver of revulsion she felt each time she saw
the image of the evil-looking serpent twisted around the trunk of a
sapling tree.

A large desk and several locked cabinets
lined one wall. Silvia had taken only a few steps inside before she
saw a shriveled old man reclining on a settee at the far side of
the room. He wore a dressing gown of dark green velvet trimmed with
loops of gold braid. As she entered, he lifted his head with effort
and turned his eyes toward her. The strain of illness was apparent
in the grim lines of his face.

Mr. Schlange boosted himself up with slow
deliberation, moving as if the effort took all his strength. He
watched painstakingly as Vivien led her toward him.

“Closer, miss. I want to see you.” His
gravelly voice was hoarse and grating and sent a cold shiver down
her spine.

She wanted to refuse, to turn around and
flee the room. Instead she stifled the impulse and followed Vivien
to a chair near him.

“Well, well. A fine prize you are, Silvia. A
fine prize.” His skin held a gray pallor and stretched thinly over
a bony frame. His hair, a yellowed white, stuck lifelessly to his
scalp, and a pair of green eyes sunken into his skull seemed too
alive and alert for an old man with the look of death.

Vivien left them, moving in her silent walk
through the arched doorway of an adjoining room.

Silvia held back a shudder of revulsion. She
could not look unkindly on the old man who had extended such
generosity to her.

“I’ve waited a long time to meet you,
Silvia. Longer than I intended,” he said patiently, his voice weak
though tinged with a strong Germanic accent.

“And I am pleased to meet you, Mr.
Schlange,” she said with difficulty, her throat feeling strangely
tight. “You have been most kind to me and I wish to thank you for
your benevolence.” The corners of her mouth quivered. She tried to
smile but found the act as difficult as moving features of
stone.

“Fine things become you, my dear.” He lifted
his head to look at her sharply, absorbingly. He stared, his eyes
even more keenly alive, a slight flush coloring his ashen skin. As
he beckoned her nearer, an expression of excitement spread over his
dour face.

“You are a lovely child, my dear.” His
penetrating gaze raked over her, noting the dark hair and the skin
as fair and smooth as cream. “My London solicitors did well. I
could not have chosen better myself.” A look of delight now
tempered his countenance, and the accent was far heavier than she
had realized. “Yes,” he grated out. “You are perfect. Perfect.”

Silvia responded quickly with a cross look.
He made her feel as if she were a bit of horseflesh he had bought
sight unseen. A surge of anger raced through her veins. Wide
honey-brown eyes rimmed with flashing black lashes dominated her
face when her temper flared. Her lips trembled and bore the natural
pout of a little girl, and under Schlange’s scrutiny she felt and
looked like a lost waif completely at his mercy.

“I beg your pardon, sir.” She frowned,
wishing the interview would soon end.

Schlange rubbed his bony chin thoughtfully.
“Turn around, my dear, so that I can see you better.” He twisted
his gnarled hands together and made a clucking sound. The girl was
far better than he had expected. A malevolent smile brought a look
of enjoyment to his face and he laughed weakly. Age and illness had
taken a high toll on his body, but his mind remained as sharp and
as cunning as ever. If his strength held out, he would see his plan
through.

Silvia turned slowly and awkwardly. She felt
deflated, humiliated, and bitterly conscious of his blatant
appraisal.

“Sit down, miss.” A labored kindness sounded
in his voice and caused her to shiver as if she were in a
draft.

“There are things I must tell you.”

She arched a dark brow and took a seat on
the nearest chair. “Of course, Mr. Schlange. I am grateful for the
opportunity of speaking with you, as there are also matters I wish
to discuss.”

He seemed not to hear her and feebly dropped
his head back on the cushion.

“Give me a moment, I beseech you, miss, and
forgive the curse of old age.” He paused, his breathing labored,
though his eyes glowed strangely as they did when he had bested a
rival or triumphed in a matter of business.

Silvia’s brows arched as she watched him.
Was the old gentleman deranged? She could not imagine under what
pretext he had purchased her bond and brought her to the island. He
seemed as vague and bemused about her position as did the others in
the castle.

“It is necessary that you understand the
importance of the thing you are about to do. I have gone to an
enormous amount of trouble to find you and bring you here. Indeed,
it took my agents in London many months to find the right woman.”
He paused to catch his breath and pull a blanket higher on his
chest. “Months I fear I can ill afford to lose. That is why it is
essential that no more time be wasted.”

“I am anxious to do your bidding, Mr.
Schlange.” Silvia felt a small hope budding within her. “But there
is a matter of personal significance I must bring to your
attention.” She would tell him of her feelings for Roman. It would
be best if he knew right away.

“It can wait,” he said sternly, the effort
weakening him so that he gasped for breath before continuing. “I
will speak while my strength lasts.”

He paused again and Silvia felt his will
like a pelting of hot needles on her flesh. She fidgeted in her
chair, thinking how penetrating and unusual his eyes were as they
searched her face.

“Listen until I have finished.” The
harshness of his voice silenced her.

Her face clouded with uneasiness and she sat
back, quaking as if she were on the gallows. He was ill and upset.
There would be another time to tell him of her dilemma. Her slender
fingers tensed on the arms of the chair. For now it would be best
to humor the old man.

Schlange cleared his throat, then took a sip
of some liquid in a pewter mug on the table beside him. His
expression softened.

“Forgive my sharpness, miss. I have little
time before my voice fails me.” His hand shook as he lowered the
mug to the table again. “I am old and I think my death is not so
far off.”

“Oh no, Mr. Schlange,” Silvia burst out, her
voice rising an octave. “Surely you will recover.”

“I thank you for your concern, my dear, but
I fear I have only a few months left. A year at most.” His eyes
rolled back. “Dying is a matter I gave no thought to all my life,
and consequently, now that death is upon me, I have not prepared
for the event. That is why time is precious and all must he
attended to in the short while I have left.” He was silent for a
moment. “It is why I have brought you here.”

“I don’t understand how I can be of help,
Mr. Schlange, other than to give you my assistance and care during
your last months. I am not a nurse but I have helped care for the
sick at times. I will willingly do all I can to help ease your
suffering.”

“I do not require a nurse, my dear, I
require a bride.”

She felt cold, as if the blood had been
siphoned from her body. Did he mean to marry her? It was
impossible. Even out of kindness she could not agree to marriage.
And what could he possibly hope to gain by marrying her? Her
thoughts rushed to Roman and her wishful dream of being his
wife.

Like a dry leaf in the wind, her voice
shook. “Surely you don’t wish to marry me, Mr. Schlange.”

“No, my dear. I do not intend that you be my
bride.” He laughed, a sickly croaking sound. “That honor belongs to
another. For him you are the perfect bride. You have spirit and
intelligence and beauty, just as my Magda had.” His eyes grew
hooded with a look that frightened her. “I trust you do not have
the one flaw Magda had.” The veins pulsed fiercely beneath his thin
skin.

“Mr. Schlange, please...”

“Be quiet, my dear,” he said in a rambling
far-off voice. “I will have my say and you will share my secret.
One I have kept for many years.”

Silvia gave up the struggle within herself.
He was desperately ill, unstable, and there was nothing for her to
do but hear him out. Probably by evening he would have forgotten
having seen her. She wondered if the family knew the true state of
his health and mind. She would report to Roman and Martha what he
said. Mr. Schlange, too, had noticed a resemblance to Magda and
seemed to confuse her with the dead woman. It was common, though
sad, that the elderly sometimes mistook strangers for persons they
had known in their youth.

“I see, my dear, that you think me mad. I am
not. It is only that I want you to know the reason for what I have
done.” He coughed and sipped again from the mug. “Magda was my wife
and I loved her greatly, indeed have loved no other woman. I gave
her all the things a woman requires, and more—a castle a queen
would envy, beautiful gowns, jewels, servants. She wanted for
nothing. I asked only that she give me a son. To my joy, she
accommodated me within the first year.”

“She was a fortunate woman, Mr. Schlange, to
have your love and the child,” Silvia said softly, ignoring the
tight lump in her throat.

“Yes, a fortunate woman.” He stiffened his
back. “But all I gave her was not enough. Not even the child was
enough. She was not content. She wanted more. She wanted me to
devote myself to her as she devoted herself to me. Something a man
such as I could not do. I had other needs. Those a woman like Magda
could neither satisfy nor understand.” His voice grew weak and
hoarse. “She learned of my ‘taste for harlots,’ as she called it,
and in time, it drove her mad. She swore she would get revenge.
Finally, to keep her safe, I had to lock her in her rooms.”

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Schlange.”

He had forgotten her for a time. His eyes
were set in a blank stare and he smiled faintly as if he might be
seeing Magda’s face.

“She seemed to recover, to be as she had
been. One day she asked me to take her and the child for a walk by
the river. I agreed, thinking her well, but the request was a
scheme from her weakened mind.” He paused, his eyes darkening.
“Magda got her vengeance that day. She threw herself and my son
into the water and onto the rocks near the banks.” His voice was
suddenly vicious and Silvia drew back a little. “I swore as I
pulled them from the water that day, thirty years ago, I would
never make another woman my wife.”