Castle Of The Shadows

Muriel Williamson Alice

Description

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.

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 23 octobre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819901976
• Langue: English

Extrait

CHAPTER I
W HERE DREAMLANDBEGAN
According to the calendar it was winter; but betweenMentone and the frontier town of Ventimiglia, on the white roadinlaid like a strip of ivory on dark rocks above the sapphire ofthe Mediterranean, it was fierce summer in the sunshine. A girlriding between two men, reined in her chestnut mare at a cross-roadwhich led into the jade-green twilight of an olive grove. The menpulled up their horses also, and all three came to a sudden halt ata bridge flung across a swift but shallow river, whose stony bedcleft the valley.
The afternoon sunshine poured down upon them,burnishing the coils of the girl's hair to gold, and giving adazzling brilliancy to a complexion which for twenty years to comeneed not fear the light of day. She was gazing up the valley shutin on either side with thickly wooded hills, their rugged headsstill gilded, their shoulders already half in shadow; but the eyesof the men rested only upon her. One was English, the otherItalian; and it was the Italian whose look devoured her beauty,moving hungrily from the shining tendrils of gold that curled atthe back of her white neck, up to the small pink ear almost hiddenwith a thick, rippling wave of hair; so to the piquant profilewhich to those who loved Virginia Beverly, was dearer than coldperfection. "Oh, the olive woods!" she exclaimed. "How sweet theyare! See the way the sunshine touches the old, gnarled trunks, andwhat a lovely light filters through the leaves. One never sees itanywhere except in an olive grove. I should like to live in one.""Well, why not?" laughed the Englishman. "What prevents you frombuying two or three? But you would soon tire of them, my child, asyou do of everything as soon as it belongs to you." "That's notfair," replied the girl. "Besides, if it were, who has helped tospoil me? I will buy an olive grove, and you shall see if Itire of it. Come, let's ride up the valley, and find out if thereare any for sale. It looks heavenly cool after this heat." "You'llsoon discover that it's too cool," said the Italian, in perfectEnglish. "The sun is only in these valleys for a few hours, andit's gone for the day now. Besides, there's nothing interestinghere. One sees the best from where we stand."
Virginia Beverly turned her eyes upon him, and letthem dwell on his face questioningly. "Of course, you must knowevery inch of this country," she said, "as you used to live justacross the Italian border."
For once he did not answer her look. "I haven'tspent much time here for several years. Paris has absorbed me," hesaid evasively. "One forgets a good deal; but if you want to see areally charming valley, we had better go farther on. Then I think Ican show you one."
Virginia's pretty brows, which were many shadesdarker than her hair, drew together. "But I don't want to gofarther," she said. "And I like this valley." "Spoilt child!"ejaculated the Englishman, who claimed rights of cousinship, thoughby birth Virginia was American.
At that moment two members of the riding party, whohad contrived to be left behind, came leisurely up. One was a veryhandsome, dark woman, who succeeded in looking not more thanthirty, the other a young man of twenty-five, enough like Virginiato suggest that they were brother and sister. "What are youstopping for?" inquired Lady Gardiner, who would not have beensorry to keep her friends in advance. "Waiting for you," saidVirginia promptly. "I want to explore this valley."
As she spoke she gave her mare a little pat on thevelvety neck. The animal, which was Virginia's own, brought fromher namesake state, had never known the touch of the whip, butunderstood the language of hand and voice. She went off at a trotup the shadowed road; and the Marchese Loria was the first tofollow. But he bit his lip under the black moustache, pointed inmilitary fashion at the ends, and appeared more annoyed than heneed because a pretty girl had insisted upon having her ownway.
It was not yet cold, as he had prophesied, but itwas many degrees cooler than in the sunshine; and as they rode onthe valley narrowed, the soft darkness of the olive grove closingin the white road that overhung the rock-bed of the river.
The hills rose higher, shutting out the day, andthere was a brooding silence, only intensified by the hushedwhisper of the water among its pebbles.
The shoulders of the heights were losing their goldglitter now; and Virginia had a curious sensation of leavingreality behind and entering a mysterious dreamland.
For a long time they rode without speaking. ThenVirginia broke the spell of constraint which had fallen upon them."Where are the persons who gather the olives?" she asked of theItalian, who rode almost sullenly beside her. "This isn't the timeof year for that," he replied, more abruptly than was his custom inspeaking to her. "I never saw such a deserted place!" exclaimed thegirl. "We have ridden ever so far into the valley now – two milesat least – and there hasn't been a sign of human habitation; not aperson, not a house, except the little ruined tower we passed a fewminutes ago, and that old château almost at the top of the hill.Look! the last rays of the sun are touching its windows beforesaying good-bye to the valley. Aren't they like the fiery eyes ofsome fierce animal glaring watchfully down at us out of thedusk?"
Pointing upward, she turned to him for approval ofher fancy, and to her surprise saw him pale, as if he had beenattacked with sudden illness. "What is the matter?" she askedquickly. "Nothing at all," he replied. "A slight chill, perhaps.""No, there is more than that," Virginia said slowly. "I'm sure ofit. I've been sure ever since we stood on the bridge looking upthis valley. You wanted to go on. You could hardly bear to stop,and when I proposed riding in you made excuses." "Only for yoursake, fearing you might catch cold." "Yet you suggested going on toanother valley. Would it have been warmer than this? Oh, Marchese,I don't like you when you are subtle and secretive. It reminds methat we are of different countries – as different as the north canbe from the south. Do tell me what is really in your mind. Why doyou hate this valley? Why has coming into it tied your tongue, andmade you look as if you had seen a ghost?" "You exaggerate, MissBeverly," said Loria. "But if you care to know the precise truthyou shall, on one condition." "What is it?" "That you turn yourhorse's head and consent to go out into the sunshine again. When weare there I will tell you." "No. If I hear your story, and think itworth turning back for, I will. I mean to have a nearer glimpse ofthat château. It must have a lovely view over the tops of the olivetrees."
She touched the mare, who changed from a trot into agallop. In five minutes more they would be under the castle; butalmost instantly Loria, obliged to follow, had caught up with heragain. "One of the greatest sorrows of my life is connected withthis valley," he answered desperately. "Now will you take pity uponme and turn round?"
Virginia hesitated. The man's voice shook. She didnot know whether to yield or to feel contempt because he showedemotion so much more readily than her English and American friends.But while she hesitated they were joined by her cousin, Sir RogerBroom, who had been riding behind with her half-brother, GeorgeTrent, and Lady Gardiner. "Look here, Loria," he exclaimed, with acertain excitement underlying his tone; "it has just occurred to methat this is – er – the place that's been nicknamed for the lastfew years the 'Valley of the Shadow.'" "You are right," answeredLoria. "That is why I didn't wish to come in."
Sir Roger nodded toward the château, which nowloomed over them, gray, desolate, one half in ruins, yetpicturesquely beautiful both in position and architecture. "Thenthat is – – " he began, but the Italian cut him short. "Yes. Andwon't you help me persuade Miss Beverly that we've seen enough ofthis valley now?" "Why, the castle's for sale !" criedVirginia suddenly, before Roger Broom had had time to speak.
She pointed to one of the tall gate-posts at thefoot of the hill, close to the road, which showed a notice-boardannouncing in both French and Italian that the Château de la Rochewas to be sold, permission to view being obtainable within. "Poorpeople; 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 veryunfortunate, very miserable," Loria said hastily. "Shall we goback?"
The Englishman seemed hardly to hear. "I'd seenphotographs of the valley, but I'd quite forgotten, until suddenlyit began to look familiar. 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. Butperhaps it's the influence of the place. Everything seemsmysterious here."
Roger Broom sighed, and roused himself with aneffort from his reverie. "Queer that we should have drifted here byaccident," he said – "especially with you , Loria." "Whyespecially with me?" the other asked with a certain sharpness. "Youwere the poor fellow's friend. Oh, Virginia, forgive me for notanswering you. This place is reminiscent of tragedy. A man whom Iused to know slightly, and Loria intimately, lived here. That grimold house perched up on the hillside has been the home of hisancestors for hundreds of years. Now, you see, it is for sale. Butit's likely to remain so. Who would buy it?" "Why not?" askedVirginia. "Is it haunted?" "Only by melancholy thoughts of a familyruined, a man cut off from life at its best and brightest, to besent into exile worse than death. By the way, Loria, do you knowwhat became of the sister?" "I have heard that she still lives herewith an aunt and one old servant," answered the Italian, his facegray-white in the greenish dusk of the olive woods. "Is itpossible? What a life for a girl! I suppose that