On the Night of the Seventh Moon by Victoria Holt

Author:Victoria Holt
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780312384319
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

THREE

It was the boys who took me first to the Island of Graves. Each afternoon during my first week at Klocksburg we went out into the forest—they on their ponies, I on my mare. I enjoyed these jaunts for they enabled me to get to know the children better and I was more fascinated by the forest than ever; every time I went out I felt as though I were on the verge of an adventure. As we were in summer the mountainsides seemed to be touched by a blue and pink mist which were the gentians and orchids flourishing there at that time of the year. They were breathtakingly lovely among the green.

On this particular day the boys had led me onto the downward slopes and as the land grew flat we came to a little wood in which the trees grew so close that the branches caught at us as we rode beneath them. We came to a clearing and there to my astonishment was a lake, in the middle of which was an island. On the shore were two boats fitted with oars.

They had made up their minds to bring me here, I guessed, and were about to show me something of which they were rather proud.

We tethered our horses to one of the trees and both boys set about gathering the leaves and flowers which grew close to the water.

Then Dagobert cupped his hands about his mouth and shouted: “Franz! Franz.”

I asked whom they were calling and they both exchanged secret glances. Dagobert said: “Wait and see, miss.”

I replied that I wanted to know what they were about and appealed to Fritz.

He pointed toward the island in the middle of the lake and I saw a boat being pushed out. A man jumped into it and began rowing toward us.

“That’s Franz,” Fritz told me.

Dagobert was determined to be the one who disclosed the secret.

“Franz,” he said, “is the keeper of the Gräber Insel. He is coming to take us over so that we can put flowers on our mothers’ graves. You can row over yourself but Franz likes you to call him.”

The distance between the Island of Graves and the shore was, I guessed, less than a quarter of a mile. The man in the boat was very old and bent; his gray hair grew long about his face which was almost covered by his beard so that little more than his eyes were visible and they were imbedded in wrinkles.

“Franz,” called Dagobert, “we want to show Miss Trant the Island.”

Old Franz brought the boat on the shore.

“Well, young masters,” he said, “I was expecting you.” His voice had a hollow ring; he wore a long black robe like a monk’s and on his head was a tiny black skullcap. The little eyes were on me now.

“I heard you were here, Fräulein,” he said. “You must come over to my Island.”

“She wants to see the graves,” said Dagobert.

I was unaware that I had expressed such a wish but it seemed impolite to say so before their keeper.

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