Royal Blood - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,32

the matter with them?” Lady Middlesex demanded.

One old man dared to come closer than the rest. “Bad,” he hissed, his face right at the window. “Not go. Beware.” And he spat on the snow.

“Extraordinary,” Lady Middlesex said.

The chauffeur returned, driving back the people, of whom there was now quite a crowd. He closed the bonnet, climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine again. Words were shouted at us and we took off to a scene of people gesticulating after us.

“What was that all about, driver?” Lady Middlesex asked, hoping that he miraculously now understood English, but the man stared straight ahead of him as the road dipped precariously downward.

I was now feeling rather uneasy about the whole thing. Had Lady Middlesex misunderstood and made us disembark from the train at the wrong station? Were we in fact in the wrong car? Surely no royal castle could be at such a godforsaken spot as this. Clearly Miss Deer-Harte was echoing my thoughts.

“Why on earth would they choose to hold a royal wedding at such an isolated place?” she said.

“Tradition, apparently.” Lady Middlesex still attempted to sound confident but I could sense she was also having doubts. “The oldest daughter always has to be married at the ancestral home. It’s been done for centuries. After the ceremony here the wedding party will travel to Bulgaria, where there will be a second ceremony at the cathedral and the bride will be presented to her new countrymen.” She sighed. “Ah, well, if one will travel abroad, one is bound to encounter strange customs. So primitive compared with home.”

We were slowing down. The driver grinned, showing his pointy teeth. “Bran,” he said.

We had no idea what Bran was but we could see that there were lights shining from a rocky outcropping towering over the road. As we peered out of the window we could make out the shape of a massive castle, so old and formidable looking that it appeared to be part of the rock itself. The motorcar stopped outside a pair of massive wooden gates. These slowly rolled mysteriously open and we glided through into a courtyard. The gates shut behind us with loud finality. The motorcar came to a halt and the driver opened the doors for us.

Miss Deer-Harte was first to step out into the snow. She stood, peering up in horror at the towering stone battlements that seemed to stretch into the sky all around us. “My God,” she said. “What have you brought us to, Lady M? This is a veritable house of horrors, I can sense it. I’ve always been able to smell death and I smell it here.” She turned to Lady Middlesex, who had just emerged on the other side of the motorcar. “Oh, please let’s leave straightaway. Can’t we pay this man to drive us back to the train station? I’m sure there will be an inn in the town where we can spend the night. I really don’t want to stay here.”

“Fiddlesticks,” Lady Middlesex said. “I’m sure it will be perfectly comfortable inside and of course we must do our duty to Lady Georgiana and present her properly to her royal hosts. We can’t leave her in the lurch. It’s simply not British. Now buck up, Deer-Harte. You’ll feel better after a good meal.”

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,