Dark Splendor (37 page)

She trembled beneath his rough handling but
hid the fear in her voice.

“I’m not mad,” she answered calmly. “But I
will be if this doesn’t end soon. Don’t you see that if I leave,
the killer will never be found. This is the only way to draw him
out.”

“No!” he bellowed. “It’s too dangerous. The
New Star
docks today. You’ll be aboard tonight and sailing
to the Indies by morning.”

“I won’t go.”

“You will go.” His voice was a snarl as he
pulled her violently to him. “And until then you’ll stay behind
locked doors. Pack a bag, a small one, and wait for my knock at
midnight. Promise me.”

She breathed a great sigh and made ready to
defy him, but before the words came she saw something deep in his
eyes that broke her resolve.

“I promise,” she stammered. She did not
regret her announcement, but it was suddenly clear to her that she
should not cross Roman Toller again.

Roman snapped his riding crop against his
breeches and tossed the reins of his lathered mount to the groom.
“It’s done. We’ll be rid of her.”

His companion nodded slowly.

“And past time, too. She should have been
dealt with long ago. We’ve come too close to losing for my
satisfaction.”

“We won’t lose. Not when the stakes are so
high.”

“You’re convinced, then, it’ll all blow over
once she is gone?”

“Bloody hell, I’ve told you she won’t hinder
us again! Give it a rest.” Roman’s eyebrows lifted. “What I need at
this point is a brandy.”

***

Silvia fretted around her room. Midnight was
hours away. As she waited, the horrid oppressiveness of her
solitude returned and with it all her fears and uncertainties. Had
she been wise to trust Roman? His sudden concern for her safety had
been disarming, and she had quickly agreed to his plan. But now
that she had had hours to think it through, she wondered if leaving
was best...if trusting Roman was not a frivolous decision.

She lay back in a chair, her eyes fixed on
the pretty painted dial of the enamel clock, her ears ringing with
its endless ticking. Anna would be back soon with a pot of tea from
the kitchen. That would keep her alert until the time came to
leave.

She heard a light knock at the door and
quickly sprang up to admit Anna.

“Your tea, madam.” Anna’s reassuring
presence relaxed her a little. “Made it myself, some biscuits and
good English brew, not like that concoction Miss Martha makes. Do
you good, I say.” She shook her little round head so that the crisp
white cap bobbled. “But if you ask me, it’s more rest you’re
needin’. Such a terrible shock, Mr. Willy dying right after his
father, and so soon after the weddin’.” She dropped her head so
that her eyes were hidden. “And you in that condition,” she added
excitedly.

“I’m feeling fine, Anna,” Silvia responded.
The news had spread quickly. “And I do intend to go to bed shortly,
just after I have tea.”

“Oh, madam!” Anna snapped her head up.
“There’s a note for you. I almost forgot.” Her plump hands dipped
into her pockets.

“A note?” Silvia’s eyes flashed open wider.
“Who gave it to you?”

Anna stopped her search for a maddening
minute, looking totally befuddled.

“I can’t say, madam. I was getting the
biscuits from the pantry when someone left it on the tea tray.”
Smiling triumphantly, Anna withdrew the note from a deep
pocket.

“Here it is. Got your name, though, so I
knew it was meant for you. I can read my letters,” she added
proudly.

“Let me have it, please.” Silvia reached
anxiously, taking the envelope and starting to break the seal, then
halted suddenly. “You may go, Anna. I shan’t be needing you
again.”

“Why, yes, madam. If you say so.”

Anna hurriedly set out the tea service in
her capable and efficient way. She poured a cup, then with a quick
smile and a look of reluctance left the room.

Silvia’s unsteady fingers tore open the note
the moment Anna was out of sight. She read it quickly:

Silvia,

A change of plans. Come to the tower room at
midnight.

Roman

Silvia was trying to hold her head up. What
was the time? The tea had made her drowsy after all, and she must
have dozed off. Her eyes sought the little clock, whose hands
seemed to have leapt ahead since the last time she looked. Only a
few minutes left till midnight. The tower, she remembered. Roman
had wanted her to meet him there. Had he found something important?
The journal? Was that why he had suddenly changed his plans?

She started to get up. Her legs felt
strange, as if they had come loose from the rest of her body. Had
she been so tired? She finally gathered her two small bags, lit a
candle, and went to meet Roman.

The tower door was open at the end of the
long dark hall. She slipped inside and saw the spiraling stone
steps, which seemed to disappear into the black void high
above.

She climbed the endless steps, swearing
under her breath that a new one grew for each one she took. Her
legs ached terribly and she had stopped to rest when a sound came
from overhead. Silvia gasped and clapped her hand to her mouth.

“Roman,” she panted. “Are you there?”

The flicker of a candle flame high above was
all the answer she got, but it brought a tremor to her heart and a
hurried pace to her unsteady feet.

“Roman,” she cried again as she at last
reached the top of the stairs. There she found a narrow landing and
a door which opened into the round tower room with the pagodaed
bed. At the other side of the landing was an alcove with a window
that looked out over the front approach to the castle. Just beyond
the window was a flight of steps which led to the tower walk
overhead.

She tried the door but it was locked. When
there was no response to her light knocks, she started toward the
steps thinking Roman had climbed to the walk.

The night was moonless and the wind strong
high above the trees. A sudden gust snuffed out her candle and blew
it from her hand, leaving her without a light to guide her steps.
The window offered only a little more aid than the pitch black of
the tower, but she rambled toward it seeking what dim rays it could
offer. When she stopped, she was standing perilously near the edge
and the wind, like a great hand, reached up and caught her skirts,
whipping them mercilessly about her legs.

Far below she heard the sound of running.
Startled, she caught her breath quickly and drew back, fearful of
being seen. She felt, as she whirled, a hand grasping her
shoulder.

The scream stuck in her throat. Her eyes had
adjusted to the darkness and with a tremendous sense of relief she
recognized the person behind her.

“Oh! Martha, it’s you.”

Martha’s hand covered Silvia’s mouth and she
shook her head, warning Silvia to keep quiet as she pulled her
forward. The white dress Martha wore stood out like a beacon in the
darkness. Around her head and shoulders she had tied a fringed
white shawl that was knotted at her throat.

“Shhh. Did I frighten you?”

“Yes, I didn’t know...I was
expecting...Where’s Roman?”

Martha led her gently to the tower door.
“He’s coming. He wants you to wait here.”

“What’s happened? Why didn’t he come for
me?”

He couldn’t. He’s being watched.”

“By Willy’s killer?”

“Yes.”

“Who is it?”

Martha’s pale eyes were fully on her. She
lowered her voice so that it was barely more than a whisper.
“Morgan.”

“Morgan?” Silvia’s jaw went slack. “I can’t
believe Morgan a killer!”

“Nor could I,” Martha responded gravely.
“But then, Willy is dead, isn’t he? Poor simpleton.”

“You knew how Willy was?”

“Oh yes. I knew. Uncle didn’t keep his
secret as well as he thought.”

“Did the others know?”

Martha shook her head. “They lacked the
womanly curiosity to learn such things.”

She had unlocked the door and led Silvia
inside the windowless tower room where the dozens of blazing
candles lit its rose walls with a sea of crimson light. In the
center of the circular room the pagodaed canopy bed with its rich
velvet curtains stood like a pagan temple.

Her fear subsiding, Silvia sat gingerly on
the edge of the settee she remembered vaguely having used once
before.

“Do you know what this room was?” Martha
asked, her face looking strangely white.

“I wondered,” she mumbled, glancing at
Martha and wondering what could be keeping Roman so long.

“Uncle’s ‘harem’ room,” Martha informed her
in a peculiar flat voice. “He had one like it in his castle in
Germany. That one he used. He kept his mistresses there.”

“Locked up?”

“No. There was a door below from outside.
That way they could come and leave as he wished. He allowed no one
in that tower. Not even Magda.” Her voice rose and she laughed
strangely. “But she came one day, against Uncle’s orders, and found
him with one of his painted harlots. It was that which drove her
mad. But you know that part of the story. Uncle told you.”

“Yes.” Silvia’s eyes narrowed. “But how did
you know?”

Martha laughed. “More of Uncle’s secrets,”
she declared vigorously. “There are passages in this house where
one can go secretly from room to room. Uncle thought he had them
all locked up.” Martha’s mouth was hard. “One leads to your room.
There’s a panel behind the wall curtains.”

“So that’s how Willy got in and out.” She
sank back on the settee. “And left his room without Vivien
knowing.”

“Yes.” Martha nodded gently. “Sometimes I
helped him get out myself, poor thing. He liked the forests, hiding
in the woods, watching people come along the path and following
quiet as a cat stalking a mouse. He was there the day you arrived,
watching you come through the trees with Odin.”

“I remember,” Silvia whispered. “I heard him
following. It frightened me.”

Martha’s laughter rang out again at a higher
pitch. “He’s through wandering now, though, poor, dear Willy.”

A shroud of doubt fell over Silvia, bringing
an apprehensive shiver to her flesh.

“I wonder if something has happened to
Roman.”

“No. Nothing will happen to Roman,” Martha
said sternly.

“He’s taking so long.”

A subtle change came over Martha’s face.

“We don’t have to wait any longer.” She
smiled mildly. “We can go to him now.”

“Could we? Do you think it’s safe?” Silvia
breathed a sigh of relief, but a persistent nagging doubt remained
in her mind.

“I think it is very safe now.” Martha was on
her feet and hurrying past the bed.

She opened the door, sending Silvia out
ahead of her. “Go to the window,” she whispered. “Look out. See if
you see a light by the stable.”

Silvia went quietly to the window, and
there, holding to the wall, leaned out dangerously far to see the
stable. It was dark, the wind like a whip snapping her hair loose
and sending it streaming around her face. She heard the soft patter
of Martha’s feet behind her.

“Is there a light?”

“No. It’s dark.”

“Look again.”

Silvia stood framed in the arch of the
window, a girl silhouetted in the silvery moonlight, one hand in a
crevice in the stone, the other holding the hair from her eyes. She
was certain. There was no light. No signal. But suddenly she was
fearful the danger might not be below. Turning, she found Martha
standing directly behind her, smiling blandly, and giving her no
room to maneuver away from the window. Coming around the tower, the
wind increased and threatened to sweep her over the edge.

“Martha, give me a hand or I’ll fall,” she
cried. Martha moved threateningly toward her, her face cold and
hard, her eyes menacing as daggers.

“And do us all a favor,” she said savagely.
“Did you think you could come here and take everything that
belonged to us so easily?”

Silvia stared in mounting horror. The bitter
resentment in Martha’s eyes told her all.

“Martha,” she pleaded, “I don’t want it,
don’t want any of it.”

“Not even Roman?” Martha sneered.

“Roman?”

“Yes, Roman.” Martha positioned herself even
closer to Silvia. “Did you think I would let you take Roman from
me?” She tossed her head haughtily. “I knew it was Roman you wanted
all along. But he despises you.” Martha threw her head back and
laughed softly. “It’s me he loves.”

“Then why did he try to help me?”

“He wanted to get rid of you. But my way is
surer. Did you think I would let you live and bear his child?”

“You know...”

“Yes. I was there listening when Uncle told
you what he wanted. And then today when you said there was to be a
child, I knew it was Roman’s. It wasn’t right of Uncle, you know,
to leave it all to a child. We worked very hard for Uncle, were
very loyal, but what did it matter? He would have forgotten us and
left everything to the child.”

Martha’s fingers tugged at the knotted
shawl, pulling it loose. The wind snatched the silken garment from
her hands and sent it floating into the night.

Silvia’s heart floated away with it. At
Martha’s throat she could see the fiery gleam of the emerald, the
Cerastes Stone, blazing as wildly as Martha’s eyes. A coldness
flooded Silvia’s veins as all the ghastly pieces came together in
her mind.

“You killed Willy.”

“You both had to be gotten rid of,” Martha
raved. “When you’re dead, everything will be the way it should
be.”

She smiled and moved forward to give Silvia
the nudge that would send her plummeting to the stone steps
below.

Silvia stood rooted to the spot, bracing her
arms against the sides of the window, the wind like a snare
threatening to aid Martha and suck her out into the darkness. She
screamed, hoping someone would hear, knowing it was futile, that no
one could reach her in time.