The Silver Castle

by Nancy Buckingham

  The afternoon was heavily overcast and the few lamps made only feeble pools of light in the dimness of the little village church. I sat apart from the other mourners who had come to pay their last respects to Willi, because I had arrived early and the pews around me had remained empty while others filled up. The message was unmistakable ... Gail Sherbrooke was regarded as an interloper.

  As the burial service proceeded, I was conscious of sidelong glances, of unvoiced questions. Why have you come? What right do you think you have to be here? I sat staring straight ahead of me, painfully aware, as I had been all through these past two days, of my lonely situation.

  At the Schloss, though, my isolation was of my own making, because I was terrified I might let slip the dreadful things I believed about Anton. Sigrid would never believe my suspicions, and any attempt to confide in her would serve only to set her against me. It was essential to keep Sigrid’s friendship, and Raimund’s too, if I wanted to remain here. And that was the one course open to me if I hoped to find the evidence that would expose Anton Kreuder.

  And so, feeling desperately alone, jumping at every shadow, at every sound and every unaccountable silence, even at casual glances in my direction, I had been walking a tightrope of fear.

  A bell tolled mournfully as we emerged from the church into the leaden afternoon. I remained apart, with people ahead of me and behind me, and no one near. I felt like a witch, a leper, an untouchable.

  When the simple committal ceremony was over and everyone was turning away from the grave, I accidentally caught the eye of Willi’s father. Josef glared at me, mouthed some silent obscenity, and slouched off. Anger flared through me and, against all common sense, I ran after him.

  “What did you say?” I demanded. Then in German, “Was haben Sie gesagt?”

  Unthinking, I had laid a hand on his sleeve. He shook me off contemptuously. The other mourners moving to the gate had paused, keeping their distance while they watched us.

  “Must you be so unpleasant, even at your son’s funeral?” I said, almost in tears now. To translate this was beyond me, but I knew that Josef had grasped something of my meaning.

  Insolently, with studied slowness, he looked me up and down, then suddenly spat on the ground at my feet. Shocked, I stared down at the path only a couple of inches from my shoes. Lifting my eyes again, I was just in time to see his smirk of triumph as he turned to walk on.

  I was aware of a startled silence behind me, before people began to shuffle towards the gate once more. I stood where I was, frozen into stillness by Josef’s sheer spite.

  The only people remaining in the churchyard now were Willi’s aunt and the black-robed pastor. They still stood talking at the graveside, but as I watched the pastor gave her a consoling pat on the shoulder before returning to his church. Pulling myself together, I walked across to join her and she observed me with hostile eyes.

  “Why did you come today?”

  “I ... I was fond of Willi.” I wished desperately now that I had heeded the advice of Anton and Sigrid.

  “You were foolish to come,” she said. “I saw what Josef did.”

  “But why? I just don’t understand. Why is he so bitter towards me?”

  She didn’t answer, her lips tightly closed. From far off, somewhere in the mountains, came a low muttering of thunder.

  “Why does Josef hate me so much?” I pressed her.

  There was fear in her eyes as they met mine. “You must not ask such a thing, not here at Willi’s graveside. It is not right.”

  She began to walk along the pathway, and I fell into step beside her.

  “You should go away and leave us alone,” she said. “No good will come of you staying here.”

  “I won’t be staying much longer. I’m returning to England in a few days.”

  By the time we reached the gate her tired, gentle eyes were brimming with tears. She caught her breath in a sob.

  “Poor Willi, he was a good boy. It was not his fault that he was simple in the head.”

  “No, Josef was to blame for that,” I said grimly.

  “Do not speak of it. You must forget those things I told you.”

  “How can I forget them? Josef should be ashamed now, not full of hatred and spite. From the way he behaved today, anyone would think he doesn’t care that his son is dead.”

  As if the words were tortured out of her, she said, “You are right, Josef does not care. I believe that in his heart he is glad.”

  She turned away and began walking swiftly along the road. I hurried after her, feeling sick at heart.

  “Glad? You can’t seriously mean that.”

  With her head down she increased her pace, ignoring me completely.

  “For heaven’s sake,” I protested, “why are you running away from me? I asked you a simple question and I want to know the answer. Why does Josef hate me?”

  I thought she was still going to ignore me, then she came to an abrupt halt outside the bakehouse. There was no one near us in the quiet village street, but she glanced from side to side as if fearful of being overheard.

  “You ask questions it is better not to ask. You give me no peace. Very well then, I shall tell you. The reason Josef hates you is because Willi is not his child.”

  I stared at her, still not understanding.

  “Your father, Fraulein Sherbrooke, was Willi’s father also. Now do you see?”

  The shock of it almost overwhelmed me. I felt the timid touch of her fingers on my arm.

  “I am sorry, but you forced me to tell you.”

  All at once so many things had become vividly clear to me. Not just Josef’s hatred—that seemed unimportant now—but I could understand the special sense of closeness I’d had with Willi, the instinctive feeling that we were in sympathy with one another. And I remembered too the incident in the chalet when I had drawn a picture of a man and a child to indicate to Willi that I was Benedict Sherbrooke’s daughter. He had touched the child figure and thumped his chest, becoming very agitated when I didn’t seem to grasp his meaning. Poor Willi had been trying to tell me then that my father had been his father, also.

  I said, and I said it almost humbly, “Please, tell me everything you know. I must have the whole story now.”

  “There is little more to tell... and yet so much. Josef was my sister’s husband, but your father was the man she loved. Oh, I know that it was wrong, but Josef had always been a harsh man and never showed her any kindness. She used to be beautiful when she was a girl, but after she was married her face showed only the mark of sorrow. Then Marta came to know Benedict Sherbrooke ... she had started to keep some chickens and she took eggs to him at his chalet each week. It was as if she had suddenly become young all over again. And soon ... I warned Marta that she was being foolish, but she would not listen to me. She was happy, and regretted nothing. Not even when she realised she was with child ... Benedict’s child. But one night Josef guessed the truth and he punished her. He had been drinking, as always, and he beat and kicked Marta until she was ... I do not know the English word.”

  “Unconscious?” I suggested in a whisper.

  “Ja, that is right. I think he stopped only because he thought he had killed my poor sister.” She sighed. “It might have been better if he had. Marta never recovered her health, and when her baby was born it was soon realised that Willi was ... not right.”

  I said in horror, “But surely Josef shouldn’t have been allowed to get away with it?”

  She shook her head sorrowfully. “Marta made me promise that I would say nothing.”

  “But why? If her husband was such a brute, what had she to gain by keeping silent?”

  “She was afraid, you see. If the knowledge reached Benedict’s ears he would have been so angry, and Marta was fearful of the outcome. Your father could be hot-tempered, but in a fight he would be no match for Josef.”

  Two women came out of the bakehouse carrying loaves, and I caught the fresh warm yeasty smell as they went past. The
y gave us a curious stare, and Willi’s aunt took her chance to slip away from me.

  I stood unmoving by the arched doorway, filled with sadness and a bitter anger that my brother—a poor, simple-minded, harmless boy—had been so brutally killed. If only I had known earlier of our kinship, I thought despairingly, I could have insisted on taking Willi away from here before it was too late. I did not ask myself what good it could have done him to be removed from his familiar environment to a new life in an alien place.

  If only I had known. Why hadn’t the Kreuders told me? There seemed no possible reason ... even Anton hadn’t suspected until a few days ago that Willi represented any threat to him. I felt tempted to return at once to the Schloss and demand an explanation from Sigrid. But if they were to realise I knew that Willi had been my half-brother, Anton would guess that I’d move heaven and earth to discover his killer. I would thereby place myself in even greater peril than I was already. Better, safer, that I keep silent.

  The clouds had thickened and it was growing darker still. I felt a few heavy spots sting against my cheek, a foretaste of the storm that was brewing over the mountains. Wearily, feeling that each step was an effort, I began to walk back to where I had left the Fiat outside the church.

  By the time I reached the car the rain was slicing down in earnest. I snatched open the door to get inside, then stopped abruptly. Something furry lay across the driving seat. Mystified, I switched on the interior light ... and recoiled in shock and horror. It was the body of Willi’s tiger-cub cat, its head twisted at a grotesque angle.

  I felt sick, seized by wave upon wave of wild, uncontrollable fury. This outrage was Josef’s doing, Josef’s final vindictive act against his wife’s son, against me as Willi’s half-sister.

  Reason returned to me slowly, and with it came despair because there was nothing more I could do, nothing I could prove.

  Steeling myself, I lifted the limp body across to the other seat, then slid in behind the wheel. I drove until I reached the stony lane that led up to the chalet and the wood of fir trees. There, crouching down, I scraped aside the carpeting pine needles and dug with my hands until I had made a hollow. Into this I placed the cat’s body, and gently scattered the cold black earth over it until I had formed a little mound.

  “It’s the best I can do for him, Willi,” I whispered wretchedly.

  Soaked from the rain, my hands grimed and my fingernails split and torn, I drove back down the lane towards the Schloss. Towards the task I had set myself of uncovering the truth, of exposing the murderer of my father and my brother.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The storm still flung echoes across the lake as we dined, but inside the firelight glinted warmly on crystal and silver. Sigrid and Raimund were talkative, perhaps trying to raise my spirits after the funeral. Anton was silent and several times I caught him watching me, his composed features giving no hint of his thoughts.

  Raimund, helping himself from the fish platter, said brightly, “Last time I had trout with almonds was at that place called The Golden Hind. Remember, Gail?”

  How could I forget that dreadful evening ... the evening he had revealed to me that the woman who’d died with my father was Anton’s wife? And later, when we’d arrived back at the Schloss, there had been that terrible scene with Anton. Our trip that evening would have been far better not recalled, but Sigrid seemed as blithely unaware as her son of the painful associations it brought me.

  “You haven’t been out together since then, have you?” she said, glancing from one to the other of us.

  “We went to Geneva,” I put in quickly.

  “But I meant just the two of you.”

  Raimund grimaced at his mother ruefully. ‘It’s not for lack of trying on my part, Mama. Gail seems to think she should spend her evenings here with you.”

  “Dear me, that will not do at all. I’m flattered, of course, but I certainly wouldn’t want to prevent you young people enjoying yourselves. Do go ahead and fix up whatever you like.”

  I shook my head weakly, but before I could think of anything to say, Anton remarked, “Perhaps, Gail, you’d prefer to come out with me. How about a trip on a lake steamer tomorrow evening? They’ve just started for the summer season, and I’m sure you’d enjoy it. There’s dancing on board.”

  Sigrid, determined for some reason to pair me off with Raimund, said archly, “You mustn’t try to cut in, Anton. Gail hasn’t considered Raimund’s invitation yet.”

  “Oh, but I think she has.”

  At that moment Karl entered the room, carrying the plug-in phone extension. I gathered there was a call from New York. Anton at once sprang to his feet and made for the door, saying apologetically, “I think I’d better take it in my study.”

  There was a hiatus of unease when he’d gone, and I noticed Sigrid and Raimund exchange questioning glances. Five minutes went by, five minutes of strained conversation. I remarked that the trout was delicious, and Sigrid barely nodded. Raimund reached for the bottle of wine and refilled his own glass without thinking to offer me some. Clearly they were both very much on edge.

  The atmosphere was even more tense when Anton returned to the room. Sigrid addressed him in German—something she had never done before in my presence.

  Anton’s face was serious as he replied. Raimund interrupted with another question, and I saw him blanch when Anton muttered, “Zweihunderttausend.”

  Two hundred thousand what? Was it money ... Swiss francs? Or something else? But whatever it was that Anton referred to, it had shocked and upset all three of them.

  It was Anton who remembered his manners, remembering me.

  “I’m so sorry, Gail, please forgive us. A matter of business has arisen.”

  Ordinarily, I’d have left them to discuss things in private by making some flimsy excuse to leave the table—or at least I’d have withdrawn as soon as the meal was over. But the time for politeness was past. By being present when the Kreuders were worried and off their guard, there was a chance I might glean some useful information. So I just smiled faintly at them and prepared to sit it out. “Please don’t mind me.”

  They made an effort to act normally. We talked about the weather, and how it compared with spring in London, we compared the television services of our two countries, we discussed the theatre and films. When we had finished dinner and were moving through to the salon for coffee I noticed Sigrid catch Anton’s sleeve and ask him something in a sibilant whisper. He shot a quick glance at me before replying, and I pretended to be engrossed in what Raimund was saying.

  I knew they wanted me to make myself scarce and after half an hour I couldn’t stand the tension any longer. Rising to my feet, I said, “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go to bed. I feel rather tired.”

  Did I only imagine their sighs of relief? As I passed Sigrid’s wheelchair she reached out and caught my hand. Her smile was wistful, apologetic.

  “Sleep well, my dear.”

  Impetuously, I bent and kissed her cheek. The skin felt dry and papery to my lips, yet almost feverishly hot.

  “I always sleep well,” I lied, with a faint smile.

  I saw Anton watching us thoughtfully, his eyes reflecting the firelight. I felt a sudden flare of love for him, so intense that I caught my breath as though in pain. But I fought it down, shocked and ashamed that I could feel anything but hatred for this man.

  Anton Kreuder had said one true thing to me ... emotions were treacherous and not to be trusted.

  * * * *

  I had expected to breakfast alone, as I normally did. But to my surprise both Anton and Raimund were in the sun parlour. Anton rose to his feet and pulled out one of the white-painted chairs for me. I said lightly as I sat down, “Why aren’t you two at the silk mill this morning?”

  “Raimund and I have to go to Zurich to see our Advokat ... our lawyer.”

  “Ernst, you mean?”

  “No, not Ernst. He handles my stepmother’s personal affairs, and Raimund’s too. For mys
elf— and for the firm—I use someone else.”

  “Oh, I see.” I wondered what it was that Anton found necessary to conceal from Ernst.

  I realised suddenly that an opportunity was presenting itself to me. With a pretence of only casual interest, I said, “I expect I’ll be seeing you at lunch time, as usual?”

  “Yes, I imagine we’ll be back by then.” Anton stood up. “Come, Raimund, we had better get moving.”

  I hadn’t much appetite, but I drank two cups of coffee while I made my plans. If Anton wasn’t certain of being back by lunch time, I reasoned, the business that took him and Raimund to Zurich was likely to occupy some time. Time enough, surely, for me to put in an appearance at the silk mill while they were away. There was a question I wanted answered.

  * * * *

  I was recognised at the mill, people remembering me from the time Raimund had shown me around. Nobody raised any objection to my being there, and I wandered from room to room. I finished up in the weaving shed, and stood watching one of the tall Jacquard looms producing a heavy damask fabric in a lovely shade of dusky pink. The girl operator turned and gave me a quirky little smile.

  I shouted to her above the clatter, “Which is Herr Lemmer?”

  Whether or not she understood English, she caught the name and jerked her head towards the far end of the long room, where I could see an elderly man in a white coat bending over his work.

  I lifted my hand to her. “Danke schon.”

  Franz Lemmer was deeply absorbed and didn’t notice my approach. He was small and thin, with sparse iron-grey hair. I coughed and he looked up, peering enquiringly over the half-lenses of his spectacles.

  “Herr Lemmer?”

  “Ja, Fraulein. Was kann Ich fur Sie tun, bitte?”

  I introduced myself in English, and thanked heaven that he understood. “Herr Kreuder was telling me about an ancient Persian design that you’re copying for an oil sheikh,” I said.

  His faded eyes quickened with pleasure. “You are interested in the weaving of silk?”