Nachtstürm Castle Read Online Free PDF Page B

white about the temples. There was about him a sort of agelessness, like lichen or duff is ageless. And his voice was the voice of sifting dust that settles in the orifices and suffocates the listener.
    “You will want to speak in your native tongue?” he asked, biting the edges of each word.
    “Only if it would not over–inconvenience you,” Henry declared. “I know a smattering of Deutsche, just enough to torture your sensibilities and miscommunicate all I desire to say. Yes, English would be much preferred.”
    “As you wish, Herr Tilney. In this place, this no–place of the Alps, one must know many languages – if one is to remain for any duration.” And here he gave Catherine the most troubled, hateful glance, which was immediately replaced with a conciliatory fawning which both heroes found more troublesome than this gentleman’s strange behaviour. He desired to know how long they were staying, he apologised for the seasonable weather – which he assured them would quickly turn to snow – and generally made such an awkward fuss over their comfort that they were most discomforted.
    He walked around the room, pointing out the bell–pull and other such modern conveniences, and so doing walked very close to Catherine. Of the three they met, he alone did not say, “Fortuna,” but he did regard her closely with those blue, almost colourless hawk eyes. “Frau Tilney,” he said, an unusual smile overcoming his face. “You will like Nachtstürm most of all, I think.” She readily admitted to liking it very much already, which admission made Henry laugh fondly. “Ah,” Old Edric said quickly, “there is much history between you. And much you wish to discuss. I leave you – the hour grows late. Breakfast is at your convenience. Nachtstürm is...you may think of Nachtstürm as your home.”
    And with that he might have closed the doors with even greater ceremony than Fräulein Helga, but for Catherine’s query when they might see Mr Wiltford.   “I’m afraid we left him on the road – or he left us, in great agitation!   If you think that it will snow tonight and he has not yet returned – !”
    Old Edric’s lip curled, as though the idea of William lost in a snowstorm or buried beneath an avalanche pleased him mightily.   Shrugging, he only said, “Herr Wilhelm knows these mountains well.   You met him on the road, you say?”
    “We did,” Henry affirmed.   “And most strangely, too!”
    “Ja,” Edric sighed, pulling at the few evening grizzles on his cheek.   Almost, he looked kindly as he confided, “Herr Wilhelm is…troubled.   He is haunted by the ghosts of those he knew, as all of his line are.   He lost his father, oh most tragically, only six months ago.”
    “What happened?” Catherine asked eagerly.
    Edric, who by this point had reentered the room and wandered almost immediately to the fireplace where he now stood silhouetted like the Lord of Embers, answered her, “Most tragic.   It is not a tale for the faint of heart.   I would not trouble you, your first night here at Nachtstürm.   You must tell your wife, Herr Tilney, that not all stories should be heard.”
    “I may tell her that,” Henry conceded, “but I doubt she will heed me.   She loves every sort of horror and we have come expressly for that purpose.”
    “Very well,” Edric replied with not so much a bow as a shift in weight.   Catherine drew close to Henry on the ottoman and the ageing servant began:
    “The late baron, my master, the cousin of – ” and here he sniffed, “Lord Branning….”
    “And Brandenburg,” Catherine supplied.
    Edric stopped in the act of stirring the fire, raised a brow and muttered, “So.   Was a man of many troubles.   Plagued, or so he said, by the ghost of all his ancestors.   Many times I saw him sitting here, just where you are now – for this was his room, before….”   He waved his hand and continued.   “Often I would hear him converse with the air: