Book: The Castle Of The Shadows

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Transcriber's Notes:

Some changes have been made to correct typographical errors and
inconsistencies.

The author's use of a mixture of US and UK English spelling has been
retained.




[Illustration: 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

[Illustration: 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 the
frontier town of Ventimiglia, on the white road inlaid like a strip of
ivory on dark rocks above the sapphire of the Mediterranean, it was
fierce summer in the sunshine. A girl riding between two men, reined in
her chestnut mare at a cross-road which led into the jade-green twilight
of an olive grove. The men pulled up their horses also, and all three
came 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 the
girl's hair to gold, and giving a dazzling brilliancy to a complexion
which for twenty years to come need not fear the light of day. She was
gazing 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 other
Italian; and it was the Italian whose look devoured her beauty, moving
hungrily from the shining tendrils of gold that curled at the back of her
white neck, up to the small pink ear almost hidden with a thick, rippling
wave of hair; so to the piquant profile which to those who loved Virginia
Beverly, was dearer than cold perfection.

"Oh, the olive woods!" she exclaimed. "How sweet they are! See the way
the sunshine touches the old, gnarled trunks, and what a lovely light
filters through the leaves. One never sees it anywhere except in an olive
grove. I should like to live in one."

"Well, why not?" laughed the Englishman. "What prevents you from buying
two or three? But you would soon tire of them, my child, as you do of
everything as soon as it belongs to you."

"That's not fair," replied the girl. "Besides, if it were, who has helped
to spoil me? I _will_ buy an olive grove, and you shall see if I tire of
it. Come, let's ride up the valley, and find out if there are any for
sale. It looks heavenly cool after this heat."

"You'll soon discover that it's too cool," said the Italian, in perfect
English. "The sun is only in these valleys for a few hours, and it's gone
for the day now. Besides, there's nothing interesting here. One sees the
best from where we stand."

Virginia Beverly turned her eyes upon him, and let them dwell on his face
questioningly. "Of course, you must know every inch of this country," she
said, "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 for
several years. Paris has absorbed me," he said evasively. "One forgets a
good deal; but if you want to see a really charming valley, we had better
go 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 like
this valley."

"Spoilt child!" ejaculated the Englishman, who claimed rights of
cousinship, though by birth Virginia was American.

At that moment two members of the riding party, who had contrived to be
left behind, came leisurely up. One was a very handsome, dark woman, who
succeeded in looking not more than thirty, the other a young man of
twenty-five, enough like Virginia to suggest that they were brother and
sister.

"What are you stopping for?" inquired Lady Gardiner, who would not have
been sorry to keep her friends in advance.

"Waiting for you," said Virginia promptly. "I want to explore this
valley."

As she spoke she gave her mare a little pat on the velvety neck. The
animal, which was Virginia's own, brought from her namesake state, had
never known the touch of the whip, but understood the language of hand
and voice. She went off at a trot up the shadowed road; and the Marchese
Loria was the first to follow. But he bit his lip under the black
moustache, pointed in military fashion at the ends, and appeared more
annoyed than he need because a pretty girl had insisted upon having her
own way.

It was not yet cold, as he had prophesied, but it was many degrees cooler
than in the sunshine; and as they rode on the valley narrowed, the soft
darkness of the olive grove closing in the white road that overhung the
rock-bed of the river.

The hills rose higher, shutting out the day, and there was a brooding
silence, only intensified by the hushed whisper of the water among its
pebbles.

The shoulders of the heights were losing their gold glitter now; and
Virginia had a curious sensation of leaving reality behind and entering a
mysterious dreamland.

For a long time they rode without speaking. Then Virginia broke the spell
of 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 than
was his custom in speaking to her.

"I never saw such a deserted place!" exclaimed the girl. "We have ridden
ever so far into the valley now--two miles at least--and there hasn't
been a sign of human habitation; not a person, not a house, except the
little ruined tower we passed a few minutes ago, and that old chateau
almost at the top of the hill. Look! the last rays of the sun are
touching its windows before saying good-bye to the valley. Aren't they
like the fiery eyes of some fierce animal glaring watchfully down at us
out of the dusk?"

Pointing upward, she turned to him for approval of her fancy, and to her
surprise 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 proposed
riding 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 warmer
than this? Oh, Marchese, I don't like you when you are subtle and
secretive. It reminds me that we are of different countries--as different
as the north can be from the south. Do tell me what is really in your
mind. Why do you hate this valley? Why has coming into it tied your
tongue, and made you look as if you had seen a ghost?"

"You exaggerate, Miss Beverly," said Loria. "But if you care to know the
precise truth you shall, on one condition."

"What is it?"

"That you turn your horse's head and consent to go out into the sunshine
again. When we are there I will tell you."

"No. If I hear your story, and think it worth turning back for, I will. I
mean to have a nearer glimpse of that chateau. It must have a lovely
view over the tops of the olive trees."

She touched the mare, who changed from a trot into a gallop. In five
minutes 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 to
yield or to feel contempt because he showed emotion so much more readily
than her English and American friends. But while she hesitated they were
joined by her cousin, Sir Roger Broom, who had been riding behind with
her half-brother, George Trent, and Lady Gardiner.

"Look here, Loria," he exclaimed, with a certain excitement underlying
his tone; "it has just occurred to me that this is--er--the place that's
been 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 position
and architecture. "Then that is----" he began, but the Italian cut him
short.

"Yes. And won't you help me persuade Miss Beverly that we've seen enough
of this valley now?"

"Why, the castle's for _sale_!" cried Virginia suddenly, before Roger
Broom had had time to speak.

She pointed to one of the tall gate-posts at the foot of the hill, close
to the road, which showed a notice-board announcing in both French and
Italian that the Chateau de la Roche was to be sold, permission to view
being obtainable within.

"Poor people; they must have been reduced to sad straits indeed!"
murmured Sir Roger, looking at the board with its faded lettering, half
defaced 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 the
valley, but I'd quite forgotten, until suddenly it began to look
familiar. Then, all in a flash, I remembered."

"What do you remember; and why do you call this the Valley of the
Shadow?" demanded Virginia. "You are both very mysterious. But perhaps
it'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," he
said--"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 not
answering you. This place is reminiscent of tragedy. A man whom I used to
know slightly, and Loria intimately, lived here. That grim old house
perched up on the hillside has been the home of his ancestors for
hundreds of years. Now, you see, it is for sale. But it's likely to
remain 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 life
at its best and brightest, to be sent into exile worse than death. By the
way, Loria, do you know what became of the sister?"

"I have heard that she still lives here with an aunt and one old
servant," answered the Italian, his face gray-white in the greenish dusk
of the olive woods.

"Is it possible? What a life for a girl! I suppose that there is
absolutely not money enough to keep up another establishment, no matter
how small. Why, were there no relatives--no one to help?"

"The relatives all believed in her brother's guilt, and she would have
nothing to do with them. As for help, her family is a difficult one to
help. 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. It
was easy to see how distasteful the conversation was to the Marchese
Loria. He answered Sir Roger's questions only by an effort; and as for
her cousin, even he was moved out of the imperturbable _sang-froid_ which
sometimes pleased, sometimes irritated Virginia, according to her mood.

"Was it because of this young man's guilt that the place was called the
Valley 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 deal
of money at one time, so that their ruin threw a gloom over the country
even colder than the evening shadows. The father took his own life in
shame and despair, the mother died of grief, and only a girl is left of
the four who used to be so happy together."

"But what of the fourth--the brother?" In spite of herself, Virginia's
voice sank, and the penetrating chill of the valley crept into her
spirit.

"He is worse than dead," answered Roger evasively. "By Jove! Loria is
right. It _is_ cold here. Let us turn back."

"I should like to buy that chateau," announced the American girl, as
calmly as if she had spoken of acquiring a new brooch.

"Good gracious! What next?" exclaimed Sir Roger. "But you're not in
earnest, of course."

"I am in earnest," said she. "I should love to have it. It's an ideal
house, 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 we
are, the chateau windows are still bright. The place fascinates me. I am
going 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 did
not speak, and Lady Gardiner's black eye gave out a flash. She was as
poor as she was handsome and well-born, and her life as the American
girl's chaperon was an easy one. The thought that Virginia Beverly might
make up her mind to become the Marchesa Loria was disagreeable to Kate
Gardiner, and she was glad that the Italian should displease the spoilt
beauty.

"I'll go with you, dear, if you are really bent on the adventure," said
the elder woman.

"Forgive me, Miss Beverly. But I--once knew these people. I could not go
into their house on such an errand. They would think I had come to spy on
their misfortune," protested Loria miserably.

"I knew them too," said Roger Broom, "and I'll stay down here and keep
Loria company."

Lady Gardiner looked at George Trent, with whom she was having an amusing
flirtation, which would certainly have been more than amusing if he had
been only a quarter as rich as his half-sister.

"I'll take you and Virgie up to the door, anyhow," he responded to the
look, and springing from his horse, he pushed open the tall gate of rusty
iron.

Then, mounting again, the three passed between the gray stone gate-posts
with an ancient carved escutcheon obliterated with moss and lichen. They
rode along the grass-grown avenue which wound up the hill among the
cypresses and olive trees, coming out at last, as they neared the
chateau, from shadow into a pale, chastened sunshine which among the
gray-green trees had somewhat the effect of moonlight.

"Have you ever heard of the Dalahaides?" Virginia demanded of her
chaperon.

"If I have, I've forgotten," said Lady Gardiner. "And yet there does seem
to be a dim memory of something strange hovering at the back of my
brain."

They were above the grove now, on a terrace with a perspective of ruined
garden, whence the battered faces of ancient statues peeped out,
yellow-white from behind overgrown rose bushes and heliotrope. The
chateau was before them, the windows still reflecting the sunlight; but
this borrowed glitter was all the brightness it had. Once beautiful, the
old battlemented house had an air of proud desolation, as if scorning
pity, since it could no longer win admiration.

"You would have to spend thousands of pounds in restoring this old ruin
if you should really buy it, Virginia," said Lady Gardiner.

"Well, wouldn't it be worth while to spend them?" asked the girl. "I
certainly----" She stopped in the midst of her sentence, a bright flush
springing to her face; for turning a corner of the avenue which brought
them close to the chateau, they came suddenly upon a young woman, dressed
in black, who must have heard their last words.

Instantly George Trent had his hat in his hand, and before Virginia could
speak he had dismounted and plunged into explanations. He begged pardon
for the intrusion, and said that, as they had seen the announcement that
the chateau was for sale, they had ventured to ride up in the hope of
being allowed to see the house. As he spoke, in fairly good though rather
laboured French, he smiled on the girl in black with a charming smile,
very like Virginia's. And Lady Gardiner looked from one to the other
gravely. She was not as pleased as she had been that George Trent had
come here with them, for the girl in the shabby black dress had a
curiously arresting, if not beautiful face, and her surroundings, the
background 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 off
his hat and sprung from his horse, nor did she approve of the expression
in his eyes, though Virginia's were just as eager.

To the surprise of all three, the girl answered in English; not the
English of a French _jeune fille_, instructed by an imported "Miss," but
the English of an Englishwoman, pure and sweet, though the voice was sad
and lifeless. Her melancholy dark eyes, deep and sombre as mountain
tarns, wandered from the brother's handsome face to the beautiful one of
the sister.

"Pray don't speak of an intrusion," she said. "Our servant will be glad
to show you through the house, and afterward, if you really think of
buying the place, he will give you the address of an agent in Mentone who
can tell you everything."

"Then shan't we find you again when we have seen the chateau?" asked
Virginia wistfully.

The girl smiled for the first time, but there was no brightness in the
smile. "I shall be very pleased to speak with you before you go if there
is anything you care to say to me," she replied, mechanically raising
the 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, as
our stables have been empty for a long time."

"Oh, thank you, we needn't give him that trouble," said Trent. "I can
fasten the horses' bridles to some tree or other, and they will be all
right."

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 of
youth. She seemed to have lost all joy of life, though she could scarcely
have been more than twenty-two or three.

"Another mystery!" Virginia said in a low voice. "How comes she to be
English? Is she the girl they were talking about down below, or is she a
companion?"

"She looks like a banished princess," said Trent. "I never saw such
wonderful 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," she
remarked, "if one saw her anywhere but here."

George lifted her down from the horse without answering, but Virginia did
not wait to be helped. She sprang to the ground, and by the time that
George had tethered the horses an old man in a faded livery came limping
out from the side door through which the girl in black had lately
disappeared.

Almost crippled with rheumatism, he had still all the dignity of a
trusted servant of an ancient house, and his old eyes seemed gravely to
defy these prosperous young people to criticize his threadbare clothing.

"Mademoiselle" had desired him to take monsieur and mesdames over the
chateau, he politely announced in French, and went on to beg that they
would give themselves the trouble of being conducted to the door at the
front, that they might go in by the great hall. He also regretted that
the visitors had not arrived earlier in the day, as the rooms could not
be seen at their best advantage so near to sunset.

Virginia's heart began to beat oddly as she entered the house. She had
still the feeling of having left realities behind and strayed into
dreamland; but with the opening of the heavy door it seemed to her that
the dream was about to change into a vision which would mean something
for her future.

Of course it was all nonsense, she told herself, as the old man led them
across the shadowy, tapestry-hung hall, and from one huge, dim,
wainscotted or frescoed room to another; yet always, as they approached a
doorway, she caught herself thinking--"Now a strange thing is going to
happen."

"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 though
the castle was evidently very ancient and must have a private history of
its own, centuries old, he offered no garrulous details of past grandeur,
as most servants would. As they walked through a dining-room of
magnificent proportions, but meagrely furnished, they passed a half-open
door, and Virginia had a glimpse of a charming little room with a huge
projecting window. Mechanically she paused, then drew away quickly as she
saw that mademoiselle was seated at a table arranging the flowers she had
gathered in the melancholy garden. The old man hobbled on, as if the door
had not existed, and Virginia would have followed, had not the girl in
black 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 not
here now, so come in, if you will. It is a small room; still, it is one
of the brightest and most home-like we have left."

She held open the door, and the three visitors obeyed her gesture of
invitation; but suddenly the girl's face changed. The blood streamed up
to her forehead, then ebbed again, leaving her marble-pale. She gave a
slight start, as if she would have changed her mind and kept the
strangers from entering; yet she made no motion to arrest them.

"She has just remembered something in this room that she doesn't wish us
to see," thought Virginia; but it was too late to retreat, without
drawing attention to an act which she could not explain. They all went
in, the others apparently suspecting nothing; but in a second Virginia
instinctively guessed the reason of her hostess's sudden constraint, and
the sympathetic thrill that ran through her own veins surprised her. In a
panel of the darkly wainscotted and curiously gilded wall was placed a
life-size portrait of a man. It was an oil-painting, defective in
technique, perhaps, but so spirited, so extraordinarily lifelike as to
give an effect, at first glance in the twilight, as if a handsome young
man were just stepping in through an open door. Virginia seemed to meet
the brilliant, audacious eyes; the frank, almost boyish smile was for
her; and--whether because of the half-told story of this strange house,
or because of the brave young splendour of the figure in the
portrait--her heart gave a bound such as it had never yet given for a
man.

She did not need to be told that this was the counterfeit presentment of
him who, in some mysterious way, had brought ruin upon those who loved
him; and suddenly she understood the full meaning of Loria's words when
he had said, "The relatives all believed in his guilt, so his sister
would have nothing to do with them."

Virginia Beverly, headstrong, wilful, passionate, was only superficially
spoilt by the flattery which had been her daily diet as a great beauty
and a great heiress. She was impulsive, but her impulses were true and
often unselfish. Now her warm heart went out to meet the loyal heart of
the pale, sad girl in black, whom an hour ago she had never seen, whose
very name she had not known. "She is right to believe in him," Virginia
said to herself. "Loyalty is the finest virtue of all. I believe in him
too. 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 could
tell her so."

She could scarcely tear her eyes from the portrait, though she feared to
let her interest be observed, lest it should unjustly be put down to
vulgar curiosity. And when the old man who conducted them, having met and
answered a quick glance from his mistress, invited the visitors to
continue their tour of inspection, Virginia left her thoughts behind in
the room of the portrait, walking as in a dream through the series of
lofty, half-dismantled apartments which still remained to be visited.

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