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Book cover]
THE CASTLE OF THE SHADOWS
Books by C. N. and A. M. WILLIAMSON
THE LIGHTNING CONDUCTOR THE PRINCESS PASSES MY FRIEND THE CHAUFFEUR LADY BETTY ACROSS THE WATER ROSEMARY IN SEARCH OF A FATHER MY LADY CINDERELLA THE CAR OF DESTINY THE CHAPERON THE PRINCESS VIRGINIA SET IN SILVER ETC., ETC.
The Castle of the Shadows By MRS. C. N. WILLIAMSON
Doubleday logo]
New York Doubleday, Page & Company 1909
AUTHORIZED EDITION DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO.
TO A GOOD MARCHESE THIS STORY OF A WICKED MARCHESE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I. Where Dreamland Began 3 II. The Story Told by Two 31 III. A Mystery and a Bargain 61 IV. The Closed Door 84 V. The Lady on the Verandah 108 VI. The End of the World 134 VII. The Gates Open 158 VIII. Number 1280 178 IX. A Cry Across the Water 201 X. "Once on Board the Lugger" 224 XI. Virginia's Great Moment 248 XII. Stand and Deliver! 270 XIII. The Game of Bluff 294
THE CASTLE OF THE SHADOWS
The Castle of the Shadows
CHAPTER I
WHERE DREAMLAND BEGAN
According to the calendar it was winter; but between Mentone and thefrontier town of Ventimiglia, on the white road inlaid like a strip ofivory on dark rocks above the sapphire of the Mediterranean, it wasfierce summer in the sunshine. A girl riding between two men, reined inher chestnut mare at a cross-road which led into the jade-green twilightof an olive grove. The men pulled up their horses also, and all threecame to a sudden halt at a bridge flung across a swift but shallow river,whose stony bed cleft the valley.
The afternoon sunshine poured down upon them, burnishing the coils of thegirl's hair to gold, and giving a dazzling brilliancy to a complexionwhich for twenty years to come need not fear the light of day. She wasgazing up the valley shut in on either side with thickly wooded hills,their rugged heads still gilded, their shoulders already half in shadow;but the eyes of the men rested only upon her. One was English, the otherItalian; and it was the Italian whose look devoured her beauty, movinghungrily from the shining tendrils of gold that curled at the back of herwhite neck, up to the small pink ear almost hidden with a thick, ripplingwave of hair; so to the piquant profile which to those who loved VirginiaBeverly, was dearer than cold perfection.
"Oh, the olive woods!" she exclaimed. "How sweet they are! See the waythe sunshine touches the old, gnarled trunks, and what a lovely lightfilters through the leaves. One never sees it anywhere except in an olivegrove. I should like to live in one."
"Well, why not?" laughed the Englishman. "What prevents you from buyingtwo or three? But you would soon tire of them, my child, as you do ofeverything as soon as it belongs to you."
"That's not fair," replied the girl. "Besides, if it were, who has helpedto spoil me? I _will_ buy an olive grove, and you shall see if I tire ofit. Come, let's ride up the valley, and find out if there are any forsale. It looks heavenly cool after this heat."
"You'll soon discover that it's too cool," said the Italian, in perfectEnglish. "The sun is only in these valleys for a few hours, and it's gonefor the day now. Besides, there's nothing interesting here. One sees thebest from where we stand."
Virginia Beverly turned her eyes upon him, and let them dwell on his facequestioningly. "Of course, you must know every inch of this country," shesaid, "as you used to live just across the Italian border."
For once he did not answer her look. "I haven't spent much time here forseveral years. Paris has absorbed me," he said evasively. "One forgets agood deal; but if you want to see a really charming valley, we had bettergo farther on. Then I think I can show you one."
Virginia's pretty brows, which were many shades darker than her hair,drew together. "But I don't want to go farther," she said. "And I likethis valley."
"Spoilt child!" ejaculated the Englishman, who claimed rights ofcousinship, though by birth Virginia was American.
At that moment two members of the riding party, who had contrived to beleft behind, came leisurely up. One was a very handsome, dark woman, whosucceeded in looking not more than thirty, the other a young man oftwenty-five, enough like Virginia to suggest that they were brother andsister.
"What are you stopping for?" inquired Lady Gardiner, who would not havebeen sorry to keep her friends in advance.
"Waiting for you," said Virginia promptly. "I want to explore thisvalley."
As she spoke she gave her mare a little pat on the velvety neck. Theanimal, which was Virginia's own, brought from her namesake state, hadnever known the touch of the whip, but understood the language of handand voice. She went off at a trot up the shadowed road; and the MarcheseLoria was the first to follow. But he bit his lip under the blackmoustache, pointed in military fashion at the ends, and appeared moreannoyed than he need because a pretty girl had insisted upon having herown way.
It was not yet cold, as he had prophesied, but it was many degrees coolerthan in the sunshine; and as they rode on the valley narrowed, the softdarkness of the olive grove closing in the white road that overhung therock-bed of the river.
The hills rose higher, shutting out the day, and there was a broodingsilence, only intensified by the hushed whisper of the water among itspebbles.
The shoulders of the heights were losing their gold glitter now; andVirginia had a curious sensation of leaving reality behind and entering amysterious dreamland.
For a long time they rode without speaking. Then Virginia broke the spellof constraint which had fallen upon them.
"Where are the persons who gather the olives?" she asked of the Italian,who rode almost sullenly beside her.
"This isn't the time of year for that," he replied, more abruptly thanwas his custom in speaking to her.
"I never saw such a deserted place!" exclaimed the girl. "We have riddenever so far into the valley now--two miles at least--and there hasn'tbeen a sign of human habitation; not a person, not a house, except thelittle ruined tower we passed a few minutes ago, and that old chateaualmost at the top of the hill. Look! the last rays of the sun aretouching its windows before saying good-bye to the valley. Aren't theylike the fiery eyes of some fierce animal glaring watchfully down at usout of the dusk?"
Pointing upward, she turned to him for approval of her fancy, and to hersurprise saw him pale, as if he had been attacked with sudden illness.
"What is the matter?" she asked quickly.
"Nothing at all," he replied. "A slight chill, perhaps."
"No, there is more than that," Virginia said slowly. "I'm sure of it.I've been sure ever since we stood on the bridge looking up this valley.You wanted to go on. You could hardly bear to stop, and when I proposedriding in you made excuses."
"Only for your sake, fearing you might catch cold."
"Yet you suggested going on to another valley. Would it have been warmerthan this? Oh, Marchese, I don't like you when you are subtle andsecretive. It reminds me that we are of different countries--as differentas the north can be from the south. Do tell me what is really in yourmind. Why do you hate this valley? Why has coming into it tied yourtongue, and made you look as if you had seen a ghost?"
"You exaggerate, Miss Beverly," said Loria. "But if you care to know theprecise truth you shall, on one condition."
"What is it?"
"That you turn your horse's head and consent to go out into the sunshineagain. When we are there I will tell you."
"No. If I hear your story, and think it worth turning back for, I will. Imean to have a nearer glimpse of that chateau. It must have a lovelyview over the tops of the olive trees."
She touched the mare, who changed from a trot into a gallop. In fiveminutes more they would be under the castle; but almost instantly Loria,obliged to follow, had caught up with her again.
"One of the greatest sorrows of my life is connected with this valley,"he answered desperately. "Now will you take pity upon me and turn round?"
Virginia hesitated. The man's voice shook. She did not know whether toyield or to feel contempt because he showed emotion so much more readilythan her English and American friends. But while she hesitated they werejoined by her cousin, Sir Roger Broom, who had been riding behind withher half-brother, George Trent, and Lady Gardiner.
"Look here, Loria," he exclaimed, with a certain excitement underlyinghis tone; "it has just occurred to me that this is--er--the place that'sbeen nicknamed for the last few years the 'Valley of the Shadow.'"
"You are right," answered Loria. "That is why I didn't wish to come in."
Sir Roger nodded toward the chateau, which now loomed over them, gray,desolate, one half in ruins, yet picturesquely beautiful both in positionand architecture. "Then that is----" he began, but the Italian cut himshort.
"Yes. And won't you help me persuade Miss Beverly that we've seen enoughof this valley now?"
"Why, the castle's for _sale_!" cried Virginia suddenly, before RogerBroom had had time to speak.
She pointed to one of the tall gate-posts at the foot of the hill, closeto the road, which showed a notice-board announcing in both French andItalian that the Chateau de la Roche was to be sold, permission to viewbeing obtainable within.
"Poor people; they must have been reduced to sad straits indeed!"murmured Sir Roger, looking at the board with its faded lettering, halfdefaced by time and weather.
"Yes, it was all very unfortunate, very miserable," Loria said hastily."Shall we go back?"
The Englishman seemed hardly to hear. "I'd seen photographs of thevalley, but I'd quite forgotten, until suddenly it began to lookfamiliar. Then, all in a flash, I remembered."
"What do you remember; and why do you call this the Valley of theShadow?" demanded Virginia. "You are both very mysterious. But perhapsit's the influence of the place. Everything seems mysterious here."
Roger Broom sighed, and roused himself with an effort from his reverie."Queer that we should have drifted here by accident," hesaid--"especially with _you_, Loria."
"Why especially with me?" the other asked with a certain sharpness.
"You were the poor fellow's friend. Oh, Virginia, forgive me for notanswering you. This place is reminiscent of tragedy. A man whom I used toknow slightly, and Loria intimately, lived here. That grim old houseperched up on the hillside has been the home of his ancestors forhundreds of years. Now, you see, it is for sale. But it's likely toremain so. Who would buy it?"
"Why not?" asked Virginia. "Is it haunted?"
"Only by melancholy thoughts of a family ruined, a man cut off from lifeat its best and brightest, to be sent into exile worse than death. By theway, Loria, do you know what became of the sister?"
"I have heard that she still lives here with an aunt and one oldservant," answered the Italian, his face gray-white in the greenish duskof the olive woods.
"Is it possible? What a life for a girl! I suppose that there isabsolutely not money enough to keep up another establishment, no matterhow small. Why, were there no relatives--no one to help?"
"The relatives all believed in her brother's guilt, and she would havenothing to do with them. As for help, her family is a difficult one tohelp. Of course it would be a good thing for her to sell the chateau."
Virginia sat her horse between the two others, impatient and curious. Itwas easy to see how distasteful the conversation was to the MarcheseLoria. He answered Sir Roger's questions only by an effort; and as forher cousin, even he was moved out of the imperturbable _sang-froid_ whichsometimes pleased, sometimes irritated Virginia, according to her mood.
"Was it because of this young man's guilt that the place was called theValley of the Shadow?" she asked again.
"Yes. A mere nickname, of course, though an ominous one," said Roger."You see, the Dalahaides used to keep open house, and spend a great dealof money at one time, so that their ruin threw a gloom over the countryeven colder than the evening shadows. The father took his own life inshame and despair, the mother died of grief, and only a girl is left ofthe four who used to be so happy together."
"But what of the fourth--the brother?" In spite of herself, Virginia'svoice sank, and the penetrating chill of the valley crept into herspirit.
"He is worse than dead," answered Roger evasively. "By Jove! Loria isright. It _is_ cold here. Let us turn back."
"I should like to buy that chateau," announced the American girl, ascalmly as if she had spoken of acquiring a new brooch.
"Good gracious! What next?" exclaimed Sir Roger. "But you're not inearnest, of course."
"I am in earnest," said she. "I should love to have it. It's an idealhouse, set on that great rocky hill, and ringed round with olive groves.Though the sun is gone so soon from the bottom of the valley, where weare, the chateau windows are still bright. The place fascinates me. I amgoing to ride in and ask to see the house. Who will come with me?"
Virginia looked at the Marchese with a half-smiling challenge; but he didnot speak, and Lady Gardiner's black eye gave out a flash. She was aspoor as she was handsome and well-born, and her life as the Americangirl's chaperon was an easy one. The thought that Virginia Beverly mightmake up her mind to become the Marchesa Loria was disagreeable to KateGardiner, and she was glad that the Italian should displease the spoiltbeauty.
"I'll go with you, dear, if you are really bent on the adventure," saidthe elder woman.
"Forgive me, Miss Beverly. But I--once knew these people. I could not gointo their house on such an errand. They would think I had come to spy ontheir misfortune," protested Loria miserably.
"I knew them too," said Roger Broom, "and I'll stay down here and keepLoria company."
Lady Gardiner looked at George Trent, with whom she was having an amusingflirtation, which would certainly have been more than amusing if he hadbeen only a quarter as rich as his half-sister.
"I'll take you and Virgie up to the door, anyhow," he responded to thelook, and springing from his horse, he pushed open the tall gate of rustyiron.
Then, mounting again, the three passed between the gray stone gate-postswith an ancient carved escutcheon obliterated with moss and lichen. Theyrode along the grass-grown avenue which wound up the hill among thecypresses and olive trees, coming out at last, as they neared thechateau, from shadow into a pale, chastened sunshine which among thegray-green trees had somewhat the effect of moonlight.
"Have you ever heard of the Dalahaides?" Virginia demanded of herchaperon.
"If I have, I've forgotten," said Lady Gardiner. "And yet there does seemto be a dim memory of something strange hovering at the back of mybrain."
They were above the grove now, on a terrace with a perspective of ruinedgarden, whence the battered faces of ancient statues peeped out,yellow-white from behind overgrown rose bushes and heliotrope. Thechateau was before them, the windows still reflecting the sunlight; butthis borrowed glitter was all the brightness it had. Once beautiful, theold battlemented house had an air of proud desolation, as if scorningpity, since it could no longer win admiration.
"You would have to spend thousands of pounds in restoring this old ruinif you should really buy it, Virginia," said Lady Gardiner.
"Well, wouldn't it be worth while to spend the
m?" asked the girl. "Icertainly----" She stopped in the midst of her sentence, a bright flushspringing to her face; for turning a corner of the avenue which broughtthem close to the chateau, they came suddenly upon a young woman, dressedin black, who must have heard their last words.
Instantly George Trent had his hat in his hand, and before Virginia couldspeak he had dismounted and plunged into explanations. He begged pardonfor the intrusion, and said that, as they had seen the announcement thatthe chateau was for sale, they had ventured to ride up in the hope ofbeing allowed to see the house. As he spoke, in fairly good though ratherlaboured French, he smiled on the girl in black with a charming smile,very like Virginia's. And Lady Gardiner looked from one to the othergravely. She was not as pleased as she had been that George Trent hadcome here with them, for the girl in the shabby black dress had acuriously arresting, if not beautiful face, and her surroundings, thebackground of the desolate castle, and the circumstances of the meeting,framed her in romance.
Lady Gardiner did not like the alacrity with which Trent had snatched offhis hat and sprung from his horse, nor did she approve of the expressionin his eyes, though Virginia's were just as eager.
To the surprise of all three, the girl answered in English; not theEnglish of a French _jeune fille_, instructed by an imported "Miss," butthe English of an Englishwoman, pure and sweet, though the voice was sadand lifeless. Her melancholy dark eyes, deep and sombre as mountaintarns, wandered from the brother's handsome face to the beautiful one ofthe sister.
"Pray don't speak of an intrusion," she said. "Our servant will be gladto show you through the house, and afterward, if you really think ofbuying the place, he will give you the address of an agent in Mentone whocan tell you everything."
"Then shan't we find you again when we have seen the chateau?" askedVirginia wistfully.
The girl smiled for the first time, but there was no brightness in thesmile. "I shall be very pleased to speak with you before you go if thereis anything you care to say to me," she replied, mechanically raisingthe great bunch of heliotrope she had been gathering to her lips.
"Now I will call our servant. He will put up your horses while you go in;though I'm afraid that we have no very good accommodation for them, asour stables have been empty for a long time."
"Oh, thank you, we needn't give him that trouble," said Trent. "I canfasten the horses' bridles to some tree or other, and they will be allright."
The girl disappeared, a slender, youthful figure in the plain black gown,yet her step, though it was not slow, had none of the lithsomeness ofyouth. She seemed to have lost all joy of life, though she could scarcelyhave been more than twenty-two or three.
"Another mystery!" Virginia said in a low voice. "How comes she to beEnglish? Is she the girl they were talking about down below, or is she acompanion?"
"She looks like a banished princess," said Trent. "I never saw suchwonderful eyes. Deep as a well, reflecting a night of stars."
Lady Gardiner's lips tightened a little. She was rather vain of her eyes."I think the girl would appear a very ordinary young person," sheremarked, "if one saw her anywhere but here."
George lifted her down from the horse without answering, but Virginia didnot wait to be helped. She sprang to the ground, and by the time thatGeorge had tethered the horses an old man in a faded livery came limpingout from the side door through which the girl in black had latelydisappeared.
Almost crippled with rheumatism, he had still all the dignity of atrusted servant of an ancient house, and his old eyes seemed gravely todefy these prosperous young people to criticize his threadbare clothing.
"Mademoiselle" had desired him to take monsieur and mesdames over thechateau, he politely announced in French, and went on to beg that theywould give themselves the trouble of being conducted to the door at thefront, that they might go in by the great hall. He also regretted thatthe visitors had not arrived earlier in the day, as the rooms could notbe seen at their best advantage so near to sunset.
Virginia's heart began to beat oddly as she entered the house. She hadstill the feeling of having left realities behind and strayed intodreamland; but with the opening of the heavy door it seemed to her thatthe dream was about to change into a vision which would mean somethingfor her future.
Of course it was all nonsense, she told herself, as the old man led themacross the shadowy, tapestry-hung hall, and from one huge, dim,wainscotted or frescoed room to another; yet always, as they approached adoorway, she caught herself thinking--"Now a strange thing is going tohappen."
"This is the state drawing-room; this is the library; this is the chapel;this is the bride's suite," the servant announced laconically. But thoughthe castle was evidently very ancient and must have a private history ofits own, centuries old, he offered no garrulous details of past grandeur,as most servants would. As they walked through a dining-room ofmagnificent proportions, but meagrely furnished, they passed a half-opendoor, and Virginia had a glimpse of a charming little room with a hugeprojecting window. Mechanically she paused, then drew away quickly as shesaw that mademoiselle was seated at a table arranging the flowers she hadgathered in the melancholy garden. The old man hobbled on, as if the doorhad not existed, and Virginia would have followed, had not the girl inblack stepped forward and invited them in, with a certain proud humility.
"This is our sitting-room--my aunt's and mine," she said. "My aunt is nothere now, so come in, if you will. It is a small room; still, it is oneof the brightest and most home-like we have left."
She held open the door, and the three visitors obeyed her gesture ofinvitation; but suddenly the girl's face changed. The blood streamed upto her forehead, then ebbed again, leaving her marble-pale. She gave aslight start, as if she would have changed her mind and kept thestrangers from entering; yet she made no motion to arrest them.
"She has just remembered something in this room that she doesn't wish usto see," thought Virginia; but it was too late to retreat, withoutdrawing attention to an act which she could not explain. They all wentin, the others apparently suspecting nothing; but in a second Virginiainstinctively guessed the reason of her hostess's sudden constraint, andthe sympathetic thrill that ran through her own veins surprised her. In apanel of the darkly wainscotted and curiously gilded wall was placed alife-size portrait of a man. It was an oil-painting, defective intechnique, perhaps, but so spirited, so extraordinarily lifelike as togive an effect, at first glance in the twilight, as if a handsome youngman were just stepping in through an open door. Virginia seemed to meetthe brilliant, audacious eyes; the frank, almost boyish smile was forher; and--whether because of the half-told story of this strange house,or because of the brave young splendour of the figure in theportrait--her heart gave a bound such as it had never yet given for aman.
She did not need to be told that this was the counterfeit presentment ofhim who, in some mysterious way, had brought ruin upon those who lovedhim; and suddenly she understood the full meaning of Loria's words whenhe had said, "The relatives all believed in his guilt, so his sisterwould have nothing to do with them."
Virginia Beverly, headstrong, wilful, passionate, was only superficiallyspoilt by the flattery which had been her daily diet as a great beautyand a great heiress. She was impulsive, but her impulses were true andoften unselfish. Now her warm heart went out to meet the loyal heart ofthe pale, sad girl in black, whom an hour ago she had never seen, whosevery name she had not known. "She is right to believe in him," Virginiasaid to herself. "Loyalty is the finest virtue of all. I believe in himtoo. Whatever crime they say he committed, I'm sure he was innocent.What--a criminal, with that face? It's not possible, and I wish I couldtell her so."
She could scarcely tear her eyes from the portrait, though she feared tolet her interest be observed, lest it should unjustly be put down tovulgar curiosity. And when the old man who conducted them, having met andanswered a quick glance from his mistress, invited the visitors tocontinue their tour of inspection, Virginia left her thoughts behind inthe room o
f the portrait, walking as in a dream through the series oflofty, half-dismantled apartments which still remained to be visited.
She hoped that, when they should see their hostess again for the promisedleave-taking, it would be in the same room as before. But she was doomedto disappointment. Mademoiselle met the party in the great hall, and,hearing from George Trent that his sister thought seriously of buying thechateau, gave them the address of an estate agent in Mentone.
Virginia was not a self-centred girl, and at any other time she wouldhave been surprised at the encouragement given to this new whim of hersby her half-brother; she would have sought some underlying cause, forGeorge Trent--who was her mother's son by a first marriage--was nearlyfive years older than she, and rather piqued himself upon influencingher to ways of wisdom. But now, though he extolled the charms of theChateau de la Roche, and made light of the expenses of restoration, asthey rode down the avenue under the olive trees, Virginia was too muchoccupied with the mystery of the house and the portrait's original toobserve the young man's manner. It did not escape Lady Gardiner'sobservation, however, and her thoughts were troubled.
She was thirty-six and George Trent was ten years younger; but sheconfessed to twenty-nine, and really did not look more, except whencertain worries, which she usually kept in the background, pressedheavily upon her. For a year, ever since Virginia had left America forEngland and the Continent, she had lived with the sister and brother, andhad been reaping a harvest almost literally of gold and diamonds. She didnot want Virginia to marry and free herself from chaperonage; and if shecould not marry George Trent herself, since he was neither old enough norrich enough, she could not bear the thought that he might forget hispassing admiration for her, and fall seriously in love with some oneelse.
She, too, was curious concerning mademoiselle and her past, but with avery different curiosity from Virginia's, and she determined to learn thestory of the Dalahaides and their chateau above the Valley of the Shadow.She did not, however, wish to appear curious before Virginia or herbrother, and hoped that the American girl, with her wonted audacity,would at once approach the topic when they had rejoined Sir Roger Broomand the Marchese Loria. But Virginia asked no questions, contentingherself with answering those of her cousin, which for some reasonconfined themselves entirely to the chateau. Lady Gardiner was sure,since he admitted having known the Dalahaides, that, being human, Rogerwould have liked to hear something of the girl who lived there likeMariana in the Moated Grange; and it would have been interesting to knowwhy he refrained from mentioning her.
As they rode through the valley, dark and sad now, in the chill of itsearly dusk, she brought her horse to Virginia's side in so narrow adefile of the road that Roger, who was with the girl, dropped behind.
"Have you noticed that the Marchese hasn't asked us a single questionabout your chateau?" she remarked. "He is a changed man since we cameinto this valley. I wonder if there was ever anything between him andthat tragic-looking girl up there? Perhaps Sir Roger knows, and that'sthe reason he didn't speak of her."
"Perhaps," echoed Virginia listlessly, and Kate Gardiner said no more.
An odd restraint seemed to have settled on the whole party, which hadstarted out so gaily in the sunshine. Each one was sunk deep in his orher own thoughts, as if the twilight had touched them with its delicatemelancholy.
They were stopping at the Cap Martin hotel, high on the hill in itsbeautiful garden, and among its pines; and there was a dance that night,for which Virginia had promised Loria several waltzes; but she complainedthat the ride had tired her.
Instead of dancing she went after dinner to the private sitting-roomwhich she and Lady Gardiner shared, having quietly asked Roger Broom ifhe would come to her there for a few minutes. He found her, not in theroom, but on the balcony, in floods of moonlight, which gave her beautyan unearthly charm as she lay on a _chaise longue_, wrapped in an eveningcloak of white and silver brocade.
"You don't mind leaving the dance a little while--for me?" she asked.
Roger smiled his quiet, pleasant smile. "There's nothing in the world Iwould mind leaving for you, Virginia," he said, "and I think you knowthat very well."
"Sometimes I believe it's true. I should like to believe it to-night,"she answered, "because I need your help. There's a secret, and I mustfind it out."
As the girl spoke there was a slight sound in the room beyond the big,open window.
"What's that?" exclaimed Roger. "Who is there?"
"Nobody," said Virginia. "It must be a log of olive-wood falling in thefireplace."
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