Chapters (36)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Acknowledgements
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
I too was staring up at those massive walls. There seemed to be no windows below a second or third floor and the only chinks of light shone between closed shutters. I have to admit that I also swallowed hard and all the snippets of conversation came rushing back to me—Binky saying the king and queen didn’t want to send their sons because it was too dangerous, and even Belinda making jokes about brigands and vampires. And why had those people at the top of the pass looked at us with fear and loathing and even crossed themselves? I echoed Lady Middlesex’s words to myself. Buck up. This is the twentieth century. The place might look quaint and gothic but inside it will be normal and comfortable.
Queenie clambered out of the car and stood close to me, clutching at my sleeve. “Ain’t this a god-awful-looking place, miss?” she whispered. “Gives you the willies. It makes the Tower of London look like a nice country cottage, don’t it?”
I had to smile at this. “It certainly does, but you know I live in an old castle in Scotland and it’s perfectly nice inside. I’m sure we’ll have a grand time. Look, here comes somebody now.”
A door had opened at the top of a flight of stone steps and a man in black and silver livery with a silver star-shaped decoration hanging at his neck was descending. He was silver haired and rather grand looking with high cheekbones and strange light eyes that glinted like a cat’s.
“Vous êtes Lady Georgiana of Glen Garry and Rannoch?” he asked in French, which threw us all off balance. “Bienvenue. Welcome to Bran Castle.”
I suppose I had forgotten that French tended to be the common language of the aristocracy of Europe.
“This is Lady Georgiana,” Lady Middlesex said in the atrociously English-sounding French of most of my countrymen. She indicated me. “I am her traveling companion, Lady Middlesex, and this is my companion, Miss Deer-Harte.”
“And for companion Miss Deer-Harte has somebody?” he inquired. “A little dog, maybe?”
I suspected he was attempting humor but Lady Middlesex said coldly, “No animal of any kind.”