Nachtstürm Castle Read Online Free PDF Page A

cousin. And I am his caretaker.”
    Now it was Henry’s turn to say, “Ah,” and to bow once more. “Were you bound for Nachtstürm, sir?” he inquired of the stranger.
    “Yes. I often...I realise it is strange to walk about at night but I had...” The youth flushed again and bowed. “You will want to hasten to shelter, sir. I shall follow you on foot. It is my custom.”
    “Well,” Henry said, “if it is custom!”
    The servants had retrieved the luggage, making such a clatter as they whispered to one another about “Young Will” as they had taken to call him that Catherine had roused. Seeing they were stopped and that Henry was gone, she at first was disposed to cry out – but presently she heard her husband’s voice outside and so hastened to join him. She had not yet completed her descent before Henry espied her and rushed to her side, helping her from the carriage. Since the acquaintance with the stranger could hardly be avoided, our hero took it upon himself to introduce his wife to William.
    That man’s eyes grew large, and he almost pulled back rather than bow as he first regarded Catherine.   “Cos’è questa cosa?” he whispered, and then, “Fortuna!”   His fingers moved restlessly by his side as though he should touch her, but feared to find she was a ghost.    Turning suddenly to Henry, he said, “You will pardon me. I must go. I shall meet you presently. Old Edric will assist you at Nachtstürm. Forgive me.” And with that he hurried away with haunted eyes.
    Catherine held her husband’s hand quite firmly, her own eyes as wide as William’s had been.
    “Catherine,” Henry began, but she shook her head and laughed.
    “It does not signify, Henry. I am not afraid. You cannot frighten me.”
    “Frighten you!” Henry exclaimed, aiding her back into the carriage. “What do you mean!”
    For answer, she kissed him, and settled against his chest for the final mile to Nachtstürm.

Chapter V
     
The Arrival.
    What a mile was that, which led our heroes to Nachtstürm! A more miserable mile has never been travelled! What rain, what thunder, what lightning, what puddles! What jolts and bumps and shocks and swearing brought that lumbering carriage to its destination! What terror possessed her – what concern possessed him! With what trepidation did they alight; with what anxiety did they enter!
    Nachtstürm was all its name implied, and worse – rising like some terrible, wingèd god from the twisted mountains; grey, dismal, massive – its corners a vigilant face staring like a stone Behemoth upon its black domain. The lanterns seemed like torches; the servants seemed like goblins. No moat, alas, did Nachtstürm provide, but a chasm between mountaintops, spanned by a natural bridge more perilous than could be hoped. The drawbridge of necessity dispensed with, a portcullis rising five times the height of man must make amends. And if an apple grove were clearly visible to the left, yet an imposing tower loomed on the right.
    The spinster that greeted them, unfortunately, left much to be desired. Her hair was caught in many thick braids, true, and her skin bore signs of softening age and shifting beauty, and she even had grace enough to be dour when they arrived, but she was not – by any stretch of the imagination – dour and mute.
    “Gruß Gött,” she intoned formally – in a voice more funereal than epithalamian, greeting them in the proper manner – which is to say, from the top of a winding staircase, and candle lit below. “Hereinkommen Sie.” When Catherine hesitated, she glanced sharply at them, looking twice at Catherine, saying, “Sind Sie Herr und Frau Heinrich Tilney, ja?”
    Henry affirmed this.
    “Hereinkommen, denn.”
    With such a demand, apparent more from her raised eyebrow and disapproving lips than from her language, she continued to speak in such a manner – which was to say, not English – and from which they gleaned only this: her name was Helga.
    She led