Nachtstürm Castle (15 page)

Henry, in little mood for more histrionics, patted William on the back and produced the packet of letters from his coat.
 
“Not quite lost,” said he, “but for a time misplaced.”

“And the will?” William cried.
 
“I gave it to your wife; she may not know she has it.”

“A foolish place to put it,” Henry chided him.

William shrugged and pulled at the grass at his feet.
 
“I knew no other.
 
Edric had found the passageway; it could not be long before he found out all and destroyed them as surely as he destroyed my family.
 
Tell me that she has it safely still!”

“I’m afraid it has been lost,” came the response.
 
“I am very, very sorry.”

“It is all my own fault,” William exclaimed, his attack upon the blameless grass rising in intensity.
 
“Yet I am my father’s rightful son, no matter what that villain Edric may relate! I’d as soon not be a Wiltford than a Durande!”

“Durande!” Henry laughed. Then shrewdly, “The same as Cecelia of that name?”

“Si,” Will sighed. “My mother. She lies there,” pointing to the well–kept tombstone below. “When I saw your bride, I thought I saw my mother resurrected. I recall, the last thing she ever said to me, the night she died, was that she would always be with me in my hour of greatest need. We all called her Fortuna, Herr Tilney, because Providence had always been with her. Did she not wed my father, despite my grandfather, and despite Old Edric? Did she not give birth to me, although all feared that she was too small and fragile?”

“Did she not die upon this cliff?” Henry pointed out, not unkindly.

“Yes,” Will admitted, his eyes welling and his jaw clenching. “But I do not think she killed herself, as Edric would have it, nor an accident, as the townspeople believe. Forgive me!” And with that, he promptly set to weeping again.

Muttering an oath, Henry handed the lad an handkerchief and prompted him to continue his explanation of
recent
events.

“I was to meet Lucia last night,” William said at last with a long, shuddering sob. “She had promised me an answer for good or ill, and we had agreed to meet by the bridal suit. I – honestly, Herr Tilney – I have no idea why Frau Tilney was waiting there nor, alas!, where my Lucia may have been at that hour. I fear….” Growing dreadfully silent, “I dreamt a dream last night….”

“Oh, let’s none of that,” said Henry. “We’ve quite enough mystery without a portentous dream this late in the game!” His tone was the light bantering one Catherine knew well, but his eyes flit uneasily to the tomb below. Last night had been no dream. Hesitantly, Henry said, “I think I know where your love was.” So in as few words as possible, he recounted his own adventures, pursuing the one he had thought to be Catherine. Young Will’s eyes widened as Henry explained the questionable demise of the girl.

“Lucia,” Will gasped. “
Dead?
”

“I cannot say. My senses cannot affirm it – for we see no body below us now. And yet, I cannot dismiss what I saw as mere imagining. You may believe that I met the ghost of your mother – and you may very well be correct, but I’m afraid I remain a sceptic. Regardless, I
do
believe the reason why you did not propose to the correct young lady last night was merely because she was
here
. Did you, by chance, agree on a certain willow tree by the family monument should, say, Edric interrupt your conference?”

After some thought, Will conceded that, at least, the willow tree was one of their meeting places.

“And this...
charming
spot – is it another?”

It was. Will flopped on his back and covered his eyes. Beginning with an invocation to his love, he cried something awfully poetic about how often they had met by moonlight and drunk each other’s kisses until both were giddy with love. And how the garish sun alone could induce them to part; she over the ridge and down the path, “which she leapt seven feet like a gazelle;” he watching her fly back to her village “until she could no longer be seen....”

“A moment,” cried Henry. “Do you mean to tell me that she made a regular habit of jumping off this cliff and onto yonder path?”

“Like a gazelle....”

“Yes, we’ve established that,” exclaimed our hero, pacing to the ledge and back, muttering to himself while Will watched in bewilderment. With a sudden motion, he pulled the young heir of Nachtstürm to his feet and set back up the mountain to the castle, calling out, “We’ll see it set right yet! Ghosts or no!”
 
But they barely entered the perimeter of the graveyard when both saw a most unwelcome sight.

Any well–read audience knows that it is wise to examine the highest, lit window of any castle one leaves behind and, had Catherine been able to penetrate the earthy exterior of her passageway, she might have seen Old Edric skulking about one of the towers, watching Henry and Will in their flight. But she could not, being at the time so far beneath the ground, and then when she emerged so deep within the church – and thus the abduction was that much more easily effected.
 
For no sooner had Catherine stepped from the Chapel – all pleasantly warm from good tea and a better spine–tingling story – than Edric appeared, smiled, and grasped her wrist, bowing a sneer to the kindly friar who had just then emerged to offer Catherine bread for the journey.

“Bitte, I shall see Frau Tilney back,” Old Edric said, before the friar could speak.

“Your services are not required,” Fra Andreas replied. “Leave the child be; you can have no quarrel with her beyond her face.”

“I have a quarrel with you, old man.”

“Then why do you fear to enter my house?”

Fra Andreas made a move forward, but Edric did not wait, even to trade further insults. With an efficient, proper flick, he threw Catherine onto an open carriage, jumped up himself, and applied the whip to the horse.
 
Flick!
and they were off, careening down the road that had brought Catherine first to this accursed place from sunny Italy. Catherine had not time to scream before she heard her name called out. With some effort, she twisted herself around, only to see Henry racing up the hill towards her, young Will behind. With a creak and a snap the carriage turned down a curvature and Henry was lost to sight. The road twisted horribly, setting the gig a–wavering left and right. Catherine let out a little shriek as she nearly tumbled out – but Edric caught her by the arms and kept her thenceforth pinioned by her side.

“Good Lord!” Catherine cried, once she had regained possession of herself. “Sir, I beg you release me! I am English – Frau Tilney! Fra Andreas has vouched for me! You have gravely mistaken yourself, sir!”

“Have I?” Edric asked. Even in a wildly toppling gig out in the ever–darkening sky, he still retained the sinister, dusty dignity Catherine had first observed in him. “I named you when I took you, Frau Tilney. I know you are not that sluttish Italian chit. There is no mistake.”

“But,” Catherine floundered, “what ill–will can you possibly bear me?”

“Every good will, Frau Tilney.”

“I’d hardly call this
good
will, sir!”

The carriage tipped as the sky seared with distant lightning. Some few yards later, Edric answered. “You are hoping, perchance, to make me reveal myself. Lesser men gloat, Frau Tilney. Not I.”

“Yet,” Catherine managed, gripping the edge of the gig, “it
is
customary, at least, to inform a prisoner of her charge!”

“No charge. Except that by your disappearance, Wilhelm might think his love gone, and pursue his title no more.
 
I thank you, by the way, for the gift of that most vexing will.
 
I could not find it on my own.
 
It was considerate of you to have left it on the floor.
 
I shall take this into account, should it be necessary to kill you.”

“Kill me!”

Edric shrugged, a daring act for a charioteer.
 
“If it must be so.
 
I have done the deed before.
 
And these mountains are most accommodating for a sudden fall.
 
Why shouldn’t Herr Wilhelm find your body, there beneath the cliff, and in woe for the loss of his beloved throw himself into the stream?
 
It would suit me very well.”

Catherine was about to scoff at the notion that any man who ever truly loved could be deceived by so cliché a ploy, when she realised that the proceeding week had already proven her wrong. Closing her eyes, she prayed that Henry would not be so deceived. Ah, if only she could turn and see him galloping after them now! But Edric’s grip would not loosen.

“Do you hate young Will so much then?”

“Rather say, I loved my master.”

“His father could hardly have condoned such underhanded behaviour!”

Edric sneered. “I loved my master, not his son.”

“But Fra Andreas said...”

A twitch and the horse swerved to one side, narrowly avoiding a felled tree. “The priest is a fool and a nobody, Frau Tilney,” Edric explained with grisly patience. “No doubt he has filled your mind with fancies and prejudiced you against those you should trust.”

“Fancies!” Catherine cried. “And is not your story about the poor lady who wove her hair into a tapestry fancy enough! Honestly, Herr Edric – what you need is a good dose of
Udolpho
! I have never met anyone in more dire want!”

Edric laughed again, almost human. “You have proven a most useful woman, Frau Tilney,” he said, between two thunderclaps. “And I thank your books. Was ist –
Udolpho
? I thank him. Your sense of adventure has gained me much.
 
Although I regret your rooms were ruined in search of those last few documents – I suppose you know where they are?
 
Helga, although stout, is a poor accomplice.
 
Ah, but I see you will not answer.
 
You will not tell me, even now when you are on the point of death, where you hid my master’s correspondence.
 
I can search your rooms again.
 
Or should I have searched your husband and his
muslins
?”

“You mean his suitcoats,” Catherine said before realizing her mistake.

“Ah, I thank you.
 
But you are not surprised, Frau Tilney?”

“Surprised?” Catherine whispered, eyeing the sheer drop to their right. She mustered enough courage to shake her head. The rain was pouring very hard now and the treacherous path was dribbling away. The horse’s hooves sounded weird against the mountain echoes – almost, she fancied two horses along the road, one galloping. “No, I have read too much to be surprised that it was you who disturbed our rooms. Yet why,” said she, once they had reached a wider berth of the road, “should you have revealed to young Will today that it was I, and not Lucia, who wore his locket?”

A horse whinnied, and not the one before them. Catherine turned her head, daring a glance back.
 
Be Henry
, she prayed,
be Henry.

“Can you not see?” Edric laughed. “The shame of insulting a guest and opportuning his wife should drive either Wilhelm to suicide or Herr Tilney to kill young Will.”
 

“Henry would never kill anyone,” Catherine murmured, still glancing behind her. The thunder came so quickly against the lightning now, Hannibal could have crossed the Alps with his elephants and none the wiser.

“Would he not?” Edric asked. “And you consider yourself well–versed, Frau Tilney?”

“Oh,” she demurred, “moderately.”

And with a burst, Henry jumped into the carriage.