Dark Dance Read Online Free PDF Page B

you?’ said Rachaela.
    Beyond the lamp she saw a mannequin in a shabby ancient suit, a small pale face with two blots of eyes. Grey hair.
    ‘My name is Michael. I serve the family.’
    ‘And you know me?’
    But who else would come here with the darkness?
    ‘You are Miss Rachaela.’
    ‘And—the family?’ she said, her hands clenched.
    ‘Miss Anna and Mr Stephan will presently come down to welcome you.’
    The flat soft voice and its words did not calm Rachaela.
    A flutter in the oil lamp as the man took it up caused all the shadows to take wing, the walls to topple. Extraordinary carvings jumped out and vanished again as the light ran off them.
    A stairway was born out of the dark on Rachaela’s right. She looked at it in wonder. A wooden nymph guarded the newel post, holding up an ornate light fitment, blind, in her hand. The stairs went up and up, carpeted at their centres in Persian red that the oil lamp made rich.
    They ascended in the magic halo of this lamp.
    Rachaela counted twenty-two steps. Behind her her cases were swallowed in the deserted blackness of the hall. Only the chandelier caught still red drops among its films of dust.
    There was a carpeted landing. A corridor appeared, lighted by another oil lamp on a stand. This lamp was of a pinkish white tone, and abruptly, for a second, Rachaela saw the face of her guide, a cameo between shadow and fire. Not a young man. His eyes were fixed sightlessly. There was a peculiar bloom on them resembling the pollen of dust on the table and other elements of furniture.
    They entered the passage. It turned at a massive window, leaded, set with stained glass that had no colour left, showing only the darkness of the night. There were confused pictures on the walls.
    The servant of the family opened a door.
    ‘This is to be your room, Miss Rachaela.’
    The room, like the house, was gothic. It was green and blue. A lamp with a base of emerald glass and clear chimney was burning on the mantelpiece of a green-tiled fireplace. A fire worked there busily over a pile of logs. In other places plain white candles were lit in sconces on the walls. She noticed, there was not so much dust, perhaps they had dusted here for her, or this oblique servant had done so.
    Across the room stood a bed with posts, hung with bottle-green velvet. An indigo cover was pulled back to reveal pillows that looked white and very clean. Perhaps they had bought new linen just for her.
    She sensed their preparations. That she was unique, exciting, like a new-born baby.
    There was the faint smell of damp, but over this the dry peppery smell of the fire, and a scent like face powder in a compact.
    ‘Your bags will be brought up to you.’ The servant Michael indicated the passage. ‘The green bathroom is there. We have hot water.’
    ‘Thank you.’ Of course the house was old enough to have done without. She wanted the servant to go. The room overwhelmed her yet for a few precious minutes she might hide in it. ‘When do Mr Stephan and Miss...’
    ‘Miss Anna and Mr Stephan will go down shortly.’
    ‘How shall I find them?’ she asked.
    ‘The rooms will then be lit on the ground floor, Miss Rachaela.’
    The servant went out and the door shut. A curtain like those of the bed fell back over it.
    There was another large slim window beyond the bed, its drapes undrawn; this window too was of blackened stained glass. Rachaela stared and made out the plumed image of a tree, two figures. She would need daylight to see what kept her company here.
    She went to the fire. It was appealing, a luxury, and none of the trouble of cleaning or laying it would fall to her. A servant—the Scarabae had domestic help.
    Rachaela tried to enjoy the fire.
    There were blue iris flowers enamelled on the fireplace tiles. The carpet in the room was very old, Persian probably, blue and rose plants and green birds.
    In two places a mirror winked behind the candles, ornately camouflaged by designs of coloured glass jewels.