Rendezvous With Danger (20 page)

I just sat there, head against the wall, legs stretched out in front of me, eyes closed. Dimly I was aware of the sound of people entering the room beyond, and of the guide lecturing monotonously on the paintings and the wooden ceiling. His voice broke over me in waves of German, French, English, then it receded, as he led the way into the next room, followed by the shuffling feet of the tourists. I breathed a sigh of relief. If he hadn't noticed anything wrong with the chair's position then the chances were that successive guides wouldn't either.

I opened my eyes. There was a window set in the wall opposite, but it was too high to see out of and there were no chairs or anything else on which to stand. The room was completely bare. I closed my eyes again, incapable of feeling any further frustration or anxiety.

I was tired. Dog tired. Tired of everything. The continual flight, the fear, the doubt. It had been two days since I had slept. Really slept. Faint sounds from the courtyard below drifted up and into the room. If there was a great hue and cry I would be bound to hear it. Until then, I would sleep.

Intermittently I half-woke, stiff and uncomfortable on the hard floor, but only long enough to settle my head on to my shoulder-bag, find a fresh position and doze off again. When I did finally wake it was because of the cold. I sat up, rubbing my arms and shivering. The sunlight that had streamed through the window had been replaced by quickly falling twilight. I stared at my watch unbelievingly. It was half-past eight. I jumped to my feet.
Half-past eight!
Stephen would be out of his mind with worry. And where was everyone?

I stood motionless in the centre of the room. There wasn't a sound. Hurriedly I searched through my bag for my literature. In the fast dwindling light I read: The castle is open to the public, May 1st to Oct 31st. 7.30 am to 5.30 pm.

Five-thirty! Dear God, I'd already been locked in for three hours! Hastily I opened the door, pushing it against the heavy chair outside until there was room for me to squeeze out. Then I halted. The room was lit only by moonlight and looked enormous and mysterious.

It seemed, as I stood in the near darkness, surrounded by the grossness of King Ludwig's fantasy, that all the fear I had felt in the past had been nothing but a prelude. Nothing but a foretaste of what was happening to me now. Through open doors, other rooms led off, the walls lined with scenes of knights and minstrels, saints and kings, the interiors cluttered with pillars and columns, the high vaulted ceiling echoing every sound. Through the day it had been the fairy-tale castle of Cinderella, the sanctuary of a romantic maniac. Now in the shadows of approaching night, the medieval splendour was grotesque, the suits of armour and sumptuous hangings, macabre. The thought of spending the night alone, locked in this edifice to a dead legend, was horrifying.

The barren rooms were alive with the spirits of the figures thronging the walls. The silence, the isolation of the castle perched high on the mountain-top, was overwhelming. In these Bavarian forests tales of vampires and werewolfs were still prevalent and my twentieth-century common sense vanished as I stared with dread into the deepening gloom.

I dug my nails into my palms, forcing myself to move. If I didn't go now while there was still some light to see by, I would never find my way out. Apprehensively I skirted the table in the centre of the room, crossing the ante-room at the far side and going out into the passage, my footsteps echoing and re-echoing on the bare floor.

Stifling all thoughts of the supernatural, I hurried past the dragon's head lanterns on the wall, averting my eyes from the scenes of hunting and killing beneath them, intent only on reaching the top of the stairs. The faint light that glimmered through a stained glass window was barely sufficient for me to see my way down them, and I had to hug the wall, feeling my way into utter blackness. Carefully I edged down step by step, my hands running feverishly along the smooth wood, feeling my way to the heavy, oak door at the bottom.

By the time I reached it I was in a cold sweat, expecting any minute to hear the clanking of ghostly chains. Blindly I felt over the door for the handle and pulled hard. Nothing happened. Again and again I twisted and turned it, pulling with all my might, but it was no use. The door was locked. I didn't know whether it was beads of perspiration or tears that were dripping down my face. I only knew that when they opened the door in the morning they would find a raging maniac beating and clawing at the wood. I pressed my hands against my cheeks, struggling for self-control. I must force myself to go back up the stairs and find another way out. Trembling, I turned, groping my way upwards, my mouth dry and parched.

Moonlight shone through the arched window on the landing, lighting my way as I hesitated between the King's apartments on my right and a marbled doorway on my left. The darkness seemed less intense on the left hand side, and with my heart beating painfully against my chest, I stepped beneath the arch.

My feet clicked on to mosaic tiles and pale, silvery light streamed through two tiers of windows, illuminating a huge cavern of a place, glittering and gleaming with gold and silver, ivory and lapis lazuli. A flight of marble stairs led up to an apse of Byzantine splendour, with Christ, his apostles and angels, soaring in glory beneath a golden dome. Tremulously I walked to the foot of the stairs, but the semi-circle at the top, guarded by giant brass candelabra, led nowhere. I turned, lifting my eyes to the second tier of windows where a narrow gallery encircled three sides of the room. There had to be a way leading up to it. Bars of moonlight shone down on to the centre of the floor, leaving the far recesses impenetrable.

I clicked my way across to the polished columns of porphyric rock, then slipped, my heart in my mouth, into the blackness beyond. Edging forward inch by inch my foot stumbled on the first step, then the second. Minutes later I stood at the high windows looking down on to the spectacular view of forest and gorge, with the mountains beyond, stark and white beneath the star-filled sky. Far below was the shiny surface of the lake and the dark outline of Hohenschwangau. As I watched I saw the pin-prick of car lights approaching the lake, disappearing into the thick woods, then reappearing again, this time nearer.

I stiffened, straining to see in the darkness. Seconds later they flickered again at the foot of the gorge. ‘Dear God,' I whispered. ‘Let it be Stephen. It
must
be Stephen!'

With renewed hope I stumbled back down the stairs, my footsteps ringing metallically on the tesselated floor as I hurriedly crossed it back into the corridor. There was no other way down into the courtyard from here, but perhaps if I climbed the staircase to the next floor I would have better luck.

I trod warily, my hands sliding along the smooth wood of the walls as the stairs climbed higher and higher. Gradually, slender shafts of moonlight pierced the inky blackness and I breasted the landing, gazing unbelievingly at what appeared to be a huge palm tree of marble rising from the centre of the stairs, merging into the ceiling above me.

I paused, trying to get my bearings. I had turned to my left on the lower landing, therefore if there was another staircase leading down to the courtyard it must be on the right. Carefully I stepped past a stone dragon, heading in what I hoped was the right direction, peering once more into the shadows.

The room was even more splendid than the last. A polished wood floor stretched endlessly down to what could have been a stage, more giant candelabras, visible only as dimly looming shapes, flanked the walls, and hanging in the half-light above my head were golden, crown-shaped chandeliers.

Purposefully I began to walk to the lower end of the room, scanning the walls, searching for a doorway. As I did so I became aware of another sound other than my own footsteps. Somebody was moving through the room below me.

I stood perfectly still. I had been so obsessed with the need to escape from the castle that I had forgotten Gunther and the possibility that he, too, had hidden away … And now he was here, bringing death closer and closer.

I tip-toed to the wall and pressed myself flat against it. The darkness here was thick and black. Below me was the stealthy tread of feet. I hugged the wall, this time completely without hope, stupefied, motionless with fear.

Then I heard him flick a match. There was a soft step; another. From outside came the screech of an owl swooping on its prey; the heavy rustle of the wind in the trees, and then silence.

If he should mount the stairs …

With slow deliberation the footsteps changed course, hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then began to climb. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't swallow. I was rooted to the spot. My heart felt as if it was bursting within me as I stared, rigid with terror, into the darkness.

Then it was still, the only sound that of the owl, hooting as it flew past the windows. I licked my lips. I had to move, to act: he couldn't find me here, cowering against the wall.
I had to move
…

There was the warm trickle of blood beneath my nails where they had dug into my palms. My body was trembling, shaking from head to toe. I pressed my hands against the wall behind me and began carefully, oh so carefully, to inch my way along it.

He was still there. Listening and waiting. The slightest sound and he would be upon me. I could see the stage now, half-formed and insubstantial in the darkness, and above it, a gallery.

I strained my eyes, trying to discern what was real and what was shadow, the blood pounding in my temples. My heel knocked the edge of a chair. I froze, sick with panic, but no other sound broke the silence. Stealthily I slipped one foot out of my shoe, then the other. If I could reach the gallery I wouldn't be as easy to find. He would pass me by, search somewhere else …

He begun to climb once more, unhurried, purposeful, as if he knew just where to find me. I could hear the sound of his hand sliding over the banister and the sharp click of a ring or watch as it came into contact with the stone dragon at the top of the stairs. In a state of semi-consciousness I reached the narrow steps to the gallery, my stockinged feet slippery on the polished wood as I flew upwards.

Behind me were the windows looking down on to the gorge and forest. I bent double, huddling beneath them, straining to hear his next move. Although I couldn't see him, I knew he was standing at the entrance to the room. The blood pounded in my temples so loudly I thought it must give me away, but he didn't move. The wind rushed through the tops of the trees far below and over and above it came the sound of his shallow breathing.

Hardly able to suppress the sobs that choked my throat I stared round with aching eyes, praying for a miracle. The cool lick of the wind touched my cheek. I craned my neck, searching for its source. It came again, this time quite unmistakably. Somewhere, not very far away from me, there was access to fresh air and freedom.

Stealthily I edged forward, every inch an agony of suspense. Through the thick darkness I could sense him listening, the slightest sound …

My heart was beating light and fast as I saw from where the breeze was coming. It looked like a door, but to reach it I still had two windows to pass. Windows which would silhouette me clearly against the star-filled sky.

With every nerve in my body screaming at me to break loose, to run, I crouched down slowly, very slowly, every minute stretching into years. Carefully I dropped to my hands and knees, placed one hand in front of the other, and began to move forward.

From outside the wind raced through the tops of the trees, the cold draught luring me on like a lifeline. Imperceptibly I drew nearer, then, just as I was about to straighten up again, he moved. The soft tread of crepe-soled shoes stepped hesitatingly forwards. I froze, holding my breath. He was moving down the centre of the room, away from me but in the direction of the steps that led to the gallery. The sweet night air blew full in my face as I rose, fraction by fraction, towards its source.

Then I stopped, the breath driven out of my body. It wasn't a door. It was only a window that had been left ajar. Another second and I think I would have broken. I couldn't take any more. It would be easier to be caught, to get it over with rather than prolong the nightmare.

I was vaguely aware that he, too, had stopped. Outside, the stars were now veiled with cloud and I could see the dark gleam of the water far, far below. I leaned forward, touching the cold pane of the glass lightly with my finger. Then I stiffened, staring with aching eyes into the night beyond. A foot or two beneath the window was a narrow parapet of stone running the length of the wall. But even as the idea half-formed, it vanished. To step out there would be suicide. There was nothing but a sheer drop to the black depths of the gorge, hundreds of feet below.

He laughed softly to himself, the sound carrying and magnifying beneath the vaulted ceiling. I could hear him pick up my sandals, tapping the heels lightly together.

‘They're still warm, Cinderella. This time your ball has come well and truly to an end.'

His voice was gay, caressing almost. ‘ Your Mr Maitland is dead, Susan. Would you like me to tell you how your knight on a white charger over-reached himself?' He laughed again. ‘By the time I've finished with you, Fraulein Carter, you'll be glad to join him. Very glad.'

He began to walk easily towards the stage, all stealth abandoned.

I had no choice. I swung the window open and lowered myself on to the windswept ledge.

I backed against the rough stone. It was icy cold, and my nails, scratching desperately for a handhold, could find nothing on which to grip. The wind smacked into me, pinioning me against the wall. Without it, I don't think I would have survived more than a second.

The ledge was no more than two feet wide and I pressed my head and shoulders back and up, facing the vast dome of the sky.

Somehow I had to make myself look down. I had to see how far the ledge extended along the castle face; I braced myself and, with a soundless prayer, tentively turned my head. The world swung crazily, sky and gorge whirling together in a hideous kaleidoscope that sucked at me, sweeping me giddily into its vortex.