Nachtstürm Castle (20 page)

“ ‘Very noble, priest.’

“I withdrew my arm, touching the scalds gingerly. The pain was deceptive: my arm had been spared with only a few light burns. ‘Go, Andrew,’ William whispered. ‘This is no longer your burden.’

“How I long to tell you that my brother prophesied true, Frau Tilney! But as you have witnessed, Edric remains master at Nachtstürm, my nephew – retrieved a mere twelve months before the death of his father from his foster home – and then treated no better than a servant within its walls, myself barred from my ancestral home once again, and Lucia very much in danger of following Cecelia’s fortune. I shall not relate to you the long, oppressing years, watching my brother deteriorate under Edric’s tyranny, nor can I relate to you the far more charming courtship of Will and Lucia – having only been privy to its tempestuous nature these past few months. That you, yourself, should have stumbled so unwittingly into our sad affair, I grieve! I wonder, was it Heaven or Hell that so fashioned your features and brought you to this place? But I know my answer. And so I beg you, Frau Tilney, to return to Nachtstürm, to reconcile with your husband, and to leave this accursed place. Perhaps in this small salvation, and with your prayers and the prayers of your husband, we might ourselves gain some small indulgence.”

Such a narrative as this demands some sort of physical consolation for its spiritual tribulation. Our heroine received it in one last cup of tea. The reader may be advised to do so likewise.

Wham!

Henry’s initial strike had all the advantage of surprise and rage – even without explicit knowledge of all of Edric’s grievances past and present. Our hero was a man of action: explanations, such as we have recently been subjected to, were unnecessary. The mere feel of his wife’s abductor folding beneath his attack was sufficient. But Edric proved more resilient than his age suggested.
 
As soon as Henry shifted his weight to begin punching, our hero found himself tussled over with Edric’s knee in his breast. Catherine let out a little shriek that encouraged Henry to push upward with his free hand into Edric’s ribs and turn the course of the fight once again.

They were well matched, our hero and his adversary. And as the horse continued its reckless career, it seemed quite likely that the contest might end only when the carriage upset. Realising this, Henry cried out, “For the love of God, Catherine! The reins!”

Catherine, who felt very much that perhaps her first assessment of this whole adventure were actually correct and that Henry had planned all of this – including the abduction and Fra Andreas’ outrageous narrative (for thus does the traumatised mind mend itself) – replied casually, “Oh, but darling, you are doing so well!”

At which point Edric jabbed his elbow into our hero’s gut and grabbed the reins himself. He flicked the horse whilst keeping Henry under his polished shoe. A sharp tug and poor Henry slid further out of the gig, his upper body nearly touching the rough ground. The effort it took to keep himself from dragging precluded his calling for help – particularly as Edric kept switching the gig this way and that. At last, though, as they careened left, Henry crunched himself forwards, grabbing hold of his adversary’s leg and jabbing at the kneecap. Edric grunted but did not fall.

“Catherine!” Henry cried again.

“You’re doing splendidly, Henry!” his wife replied. “I have every confidence in you.”

Our hero groaned. Then, with a great deal of restraint – and a bit of pain since Edric attempted to squelch the speech by digging his heel into Henry’s spleen – Henry said, “Listen, Catherine. The reins. Grab the reins. For the love you bear me – grab. the. reins!”

Perhaps something of her husband’s urgency penetrated our heroine’s befogged mind, for she turned to her abductor and said, “If you please, sir. You will relinquish those to me.”

Edric merely cocked one elegant brow and muttered, “English.”

“No, sir,” Catherine essayed again. “I insist! You have done all that you were instructed to, but now indeed you exceed your commission! I am sure,” with a hot dignity, “I have never heard of an actor who treated his employer so!”

“An actor?” Henry and Edric exclaimed at once.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Henry,” Catherine said impatiently. “You quite fooled me with your tricks and I’ve still no idea how you managed to persuade me the locket had any hold over me, much less yet how you managed Donna Fortuna to seem so ghostlike, but my darling, I have every confidence in your power of persuasion – as well as in your mischievous humour. And when Fra Andreas – who, by the way, Herr Edric, is a far more upright actor than yourself, even if less convincing – wove his impossible tale....Well, how could I not remember your own stories? The japan wardrobe! And on the boat, your ridiculous suppositions! Yes, well, you quite tricked me – I can’t even conceive how long it took to find someone who was my double! Nor do I understand why you should allow young Will to…well, but nevermind.
 
Even though I have penetrated your scheme now, I don’t see why you shouldn’t finish it as you intended. If you really wish me to take the reins, I shall – but, well, you
are
doing splendidly, Henry!”

“Oh Lord,” moaned our hero. And so reaching up as best he could, he clutched the reins just next to Edric’s strong hands, and
pulled
. With a terrified whinny, the horse reared, throwing all of the travellers upon the road! Edric flew over Henry’s head and dashed against the mountain’s high side. Catherine stumbled, landing on top of Henry, who – being the nearest to the ground already, had merely fallen the remaining distance. Quickly, he disentangled himself from his beloved and struggled with the pistol he kept constantly at his side. Edric, blood streaming from his brow and impeccable clothes covered in dirt, was even now rising from where he had been thrown and removing a like weapon.

“Naturally,” Henry muttered irritably, as he took aim. “We haven’t had a duel yet. I’m only surprised there’s no mist.”

And with that, Henry shot.

The blast went wide.

Catherine screamed and buried her face in Henry’s cravat – which far from eliciting his tender sentiments, as authors of novelists will assure us, rather did nothing but impede our hero in getting off another shot.

Edric laughed and levelled his own pistol, calling out, “I assure you, Herr Tilney, I have bullets enough for you and your bride.
 
There is no use in protecting her.”

Henry growled, grabbed Catherine and dove to one side – Edric’s shot lodging itself into a tree just behind our hero’s head.
 
Now on the ground, Henry wrestled with his own pistol and took another shot. This one aimed true, piercing right through Edric’s left eye.

Still Edric did not fall.

“Now will you believe me, Catherine?” Henry asked as he ducked and rolled with her behind an outcropping.

Another shot rang out; hit the stone.
 
Worse yet, Edric’s voice drifted towards them, a chill laughter: “It is no use, Herr Tilney.
 
Lesser men than you have fallen before me.”

“Like the late baron, you mean?” Henry stalled, loading his pistol once more.

“My master tumbled from the window, I told you that.”

“But by whose hand?” Henry cried, rising from behind the rock to shoot the advancing Edric nearly point-blank in the heart.

Still Edric did not fall.

Touching his ruined breast, the old, unnatural man remarked with some surprising bitterness, “This cloth was nearly new.”

“New?” Catherine rejoined.
 
“It’s a hundred years, if it’s a day.
 
And of a very unfashionable cut!”

This taunt more than any other seemed to enrage the villain and he well-nigh screamed, “It was a
present
from the seventh baron
who esteemed me very much
!
 
I have
ever
,” with a shot, “been
faithful
,” with another shot, “to the true
Barons
,” with yet another, “of
Brandenburg
!”
 
Three more, one grazing Henry’s hand.
 
Edric was nearly above them now.
 
There was no escaping him.

Edric smiled.
 
“Ah well.
 
It has been a pleasure, truly.
 
I am only sorry that it had to end this way.”

He took aim.

Levelled.

Blinked his one good eye.

And exploded into flame.

“Really, Henry!” Catherine exclaimed, clutching her beloved’s arm. “He was no Macklin or Garrick, but his performance wasn’t
that
bad!”

 
“You might have fainted,” Henry said, some time later as the newlyweds travelled slowly back to Nachtstürm. The gig and horse had proved equal to the wear and – after some careful manoeuvring on the narrow road – perfectly capable of bearing our heroes homeward. The horse Henry had ridden to his wife’s rescue, they found further up the road, waiting docilely for his strange master to return.
 
He appeared content to clop along behind them, led by a tether. “I believe,” Henry continued, “that fainting
is
the only bit we’ve left out of our adventure.”

“But how
could
I faint, Henry,” Catherine replied, snuggling under his arm, “when I had every assurance that no lasting harm would come to either of us.”

“Your faith in Providence exceeds my own.”

“My faith, yes, but also in your ability.”

“And you faithfully believe that these bruises are the result of nothing more than play acting?”

“Oh,” Catherine considered, gently brushing his side. “Well, yes, these are no mere fancy. But you could hardly know that...that Edric would be quite so...quite so...
excitable
.”

Henry laughed a little desperately and drew Catherine closer to him – ignoring the cuts and bruises. What wounds can withstand such a pleasant balm as one’s bride? “Believe what you will, Catherine. But I hope you will not mind if we leave tomorrow? Unless, of course, you have found any fault with our adventure – beyond fainting, which, I perceive, you stalwartly refuse to succumb to again – that I should remedy by throwing myself into the jaws of death?”

“No more death, I beg you!” Catherine cried. “And no more ghosts either. Or passages through the walls or underground. Nor jewellery nor
letters
. Henry, do promise you shall
never
give me a locket.”

“No locket!” Henry smiled. “Ah, but how can I resist such a decree? What if, my love, the locket held a lock of your own hair?”

“I should shear away the remainder!” she declared.

“Never,” said our hero, leaning over to kiss her dark tresses. “I should hate for you to lose your best feature.”

“My best feature?” Catherine inquired, tipping her head upward for another kiss. “If you love me only for my hair, then by all means, I shall cut it off and leave it to you!”

“Would you leave your lips, as well? Your hair is lovely, but hardly demonstrative.”

“No, Henry. If you desire my lips, you must settle for all of me. For should I leave you, which I would never do, but
should
I, I should wish to denounce you...”

“In verse?”

“...and for that I would need my lips.”

Henry sighed. “Well, then, I suppose I must resign myself to taking all of my beloved Catherine. For I should hate to see you parcelled out.”

And with that, the conversation degenerated into lover’s murmurs, which, although honey to the beloved’s ear, is really quite unintelligible to the rational mind.
 
It is a strange thing, some would point out, that our heroes should so quickly speak in lovers’ terms, so quickly laugh and match wits with one another when they have just been subjected to the worst sort of horrors in a mere four-and-twenty hours!
 
Ghosts
!
 
The outraged reader may proclaim.
 
Demons and adbductions!
 
Have our heroes no care for their own lives?
 
Their own minds?
 
Yet the simple fact is that Henry, so shaken by their narrow escape, found another escape through humour, while Catherine retreated to the imagination, and both met again in the sweet nothings of the married life.
 
They were not unaffected; they were undeterred.