Part 7 (2/2)

”This is Lady Georgiana,” Lady Middles.e.x said in the atrociously English-sounding French of most of my countrymen. She indicated me. ”I am her traveling companion, Lady Middles.e.x, 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 Middles.e.x said coldly, ”No animal of any kind.”

”Allow me to present myself,” the man said. ”I am Count Dragomir, steward of this castle. I welcome you on behalf of Their Royal Highnesses. I hope you will have a pleasant stay here.” He clicked his heels and gave a curt little bow, reminding me of Prince Siegfried, my would-be groom, who was also related to the royal house of Romania. Oh, Lord, of course he'd be here. That aspect hadn't struck me before. The moment I had this thought, another followed. This couldn't possibly be a trap, could it? Both my family and Prince Siegfried had been annoyed when I had turned down his marriage proposal. And Siegfried was the type who likes to get his own way. Had I been specially invited to this wedding so that I'd be trapped in a spooky old castle in the middle of the mountains of Romania with a convenient priest to perform a marriage ceremony?

I looked back longingly at the motorcar as Count Dragomir indicated we should follow him up the steps.

We entered the castle into a towering hall hung with banners and weapons. Archways around the walls led into dark pa.s.sageways. The floor and walls were solid stone and it was almost as cold inside as it was out.

”You will rest after exhausting journey,” Dragomir said. His breath hung visibly in the cold air. ”I will have servants show you to your rooms. We dine at eight. Her Highness Princess Maria Theresa looks forward to renewing acquaintances.h.i.+p with her old friend Lady Georgiana of Rannoch. Please do follow now.”

He clapped his hands. A bevy of footmen leaped out of the shadows, s.n.a.t.c.hed up our train cases and started up another flight of steep stone steps that ascended one of the walls with no railing. My feet felt as tired as if I'd been on a long hike and I realized it was a long way down if I were to stumble. At the top we came out to a hallway colder and draftier than anything at Castle Rannoch, then up a spiral staircase, round and round until I was feeling dizzy. The staircase ended in a broad corridor with a carved wooden ceiling. Again the floor was stone, and it was lined with ancestral portraits of people who looked fierce, half mad or both. Queenie had been following hard on my heels. Suddenly she gave a scream and leaped to grab me, nearly sending us both sprawling.

”There's someone standing behind the pillar,” she gasped.

I turned to look. ”It's only a suit of armor,” I said.

”But I could swear it moved, miss. I saw it raise its arm.”

The suit was indeed standing holding a pike with one arm raised. I opened the visor. ”See. There's n.o.body inside. Come on, or we'll lose our guide.”

Queenie followed, keeping so close that she kept b.u.mping into me every time I slowed. A door was opened, curtains were held back and I stepped into an impressively large room.

Queenie was breathing down my neck. ”Ooh, heck,” she said. ”It looks like something out of the pictures, don't it, miss? Boris Karloff and Frankenstein.”

”Come,” the footman now said to Queenie. ”Mistress rest now. Come.”

”Go with him, Queenie,” I said. ”He'll take you to your room. Have a rest yourself but come back in time to dress me for dinner.”

Queenie shot me a frightened glance and went after him reluctantly. The curtains fell into place and I was alone. The room smelled old and damp, in a way that was not unfamiliar to me from our castle at home. But whereas the rooms at Castle Rannoch were spartan in the extreme, this room was full of drapes, hangings and heavy furniture. In the middle was a four-poster bed hung with velvet curtains that would have been quite suitable for the Princess and the Pea. Similar heavy curtains covered one wall, with presumably a window behind them. More curtains concealed the door I had just come through. A fire was burning in an ornate marble fireplace but it hadn't succeeded in heating the room very well. There was a ma.s.sive wardrobe, a dressing table, a bulky chest of drawers, a writing desk by the window and a huge painting on the wall of a pale, rather good-looking young man in a white s.h.i.+rt, reminding me of one of the Romantic poets-had Lord Byron visited these parts? But then Byron had been dark and this young man was blond. The lighting was extremely poor, dim and flickering, coming from a couple of sconces on the walls. I looked around, still feeling queasy from the ride and uneasy from the strange tension that had been building ever since that man had tried to enter my compartment. It wasn't the pleasantest feeling standing in a room with no obvious window or door and I decided to go and pull back the curtains on the far wall.

As I crossed the room I detected a movement and my heart lurched as I saw a white face looking at me. Then I realized it was only a pockmarked old looking gla.s.s on the wardrobe door. I pulled back the curtains enough to reveal the window, managed to open the shutters and stood looking out into the blackness of the night. Not a single light shone out from the dark forested hills. Snow was still falling softly and cold flakes landed on my cheeks. I looked down. My room must have been in the part of the castle built on the edge of the rock, because it seemed an awfully long way down into nothing. Far away I detected the sound of howling coming through the stillness. It didn't sound like any dog I had ever heard and the word ”wolves” crept into my mind.

I was just about to close the window again when I stiffened, then peered intently into the darkness trying to make out what I was really seeing. Something or somebody was climbing up the castle wall.

Chapter 12.

Bran Castle Somewhere in the middle of Transylvania Wednesday, November 16

I couldn't believe my eyes. All I could make out was a figure all in black with what looked like a cape blowing out behind it in the wind moving steadily up the apparently smooth stone wall of the castle. Then all at once it vanished. I stood there, staring for a while until the wind picked up, carrying with it the howling of wolves, and snow started to blow into the room. Then I closed the window again. I lay on the bed and tried to rest but I couldn't. Drat that Deer-Harte woman. If she hadn't brought up the subject of vampires, my thoughts wouldn't be running wild at this point. I lay looking around the room. The top of the wardrobe appeared to be carved with gargoyles at each corner. There were faces in the crown molding and-dear G.o.d, what was that? A piece of furniture I hadn't noticed, half hidden behind the door curtains. It looked like a large carved wood chest. A very large carved wood chest big enough to conceal a person. Or . . . it couldn't be a coffin, could it?

I got up and tiptoed across the room. I had to know what was inside that chest. The lid was infernally heavy. I was just struggling to get it open when I felt a draft behind me and a hand touched my back. I yelled and spun around. The lid crashed shut with a hollow thud and there was Queenie looking scared.

”Sorry, miss. I didn't mean to startle you. I came in real quiet-like, in case you were still sleeping.”

”Sleeping? How can I sleep in a place like this?” I asked.

She looked around. ”Blimey. I see what you mean. This is a spooky old place, ain't it? Gives me the w.i.l.l.i.e.s. Reminds me of the Chamber of Horrors at Madame Tussauds. Except for the bloke on the wall. He's a bit of all right, ain't he?”

”I'm not sure I like him looking at me when I'm in bed,” I said, and as I said it I realized that the portrait was directly above the chest/coffin. ”What's your room like?”

”A bit like Holloway Prison, if you want my opinion. Plain and cold. And way up in one of the turrets. I don't see myself getting much sleep up there. And you have to go round and round this windy staircase to reach it. I got lost several times on the way down. I'd have ended up down in the dungeons by now, if it hadn't been for one of them blokes in the smas.h.i.+ng uniform who rescued me and brought me here. I don't know how I'm ever going to find my way back.” She stared at me. ”Are you all right, miss? You look awful pale.”

I was about to tell her about the thing climbing up the castle wall but then I realized that I couldn't. That Rannoch sense of duty kicked in and I was sure that Robert Bruce Rannoch or Murdoch McLachan Rannoch wouldn't have been frightened by a figure climbing up a wall. I had to appear to be calm and in control.

”I'm absolutely splendid, thank you, Queenie,” I said. ”Now, I wonder when my baggage will arrive.”

Almost on cue there was a tap on my door and the bags were brought in by more tall, dark-haired footmen, all seeming to look identical.

”You might as well put away my clothes and then help me get dressed for dinner,” I said. ”I wonder where you're supposed to find water for me to wash.”

We scouted out the hall and found a bathroom not too far away-a ma.s.sive cavern of a room with great stone arches rising to a vaulted ceiling. The claw-footed tub in the middle was big enough to go swimming in. A geyser contraption over it presumably supplied hot water.

”I think I'll have a bath before dinner,” I said. ”Why don't you start running me a bath and then see if you can locate my robe.”

I undressed while Queenie unpacked and hung up my things. That's when we discovered that she hadn't packed a robe for me. ”Never mind,” I said. ”I'll have to walk down the hall in my nightdress. There doesn't seem to be anyone else around.”

I scooted rapidly back to the bathroom, feeling rather self-conscious in my nightdress, and found the whole place full of steam and the bath temperature hot enough to boil a steamed pudding. What's more the window was jammed shut and it took ages for me to run out half the bathwater and fill it with cold. After that I had a lovely long soak, got out feeling refreshed and looked around for a towel. There wasn't one. Now I was in a pickle. The nightdress that I had worn had become so sodden with steam that it was almost as wet as I was. I had no way to dry off. I'd have to make a run for it.

I pulled my nightdress over my head with great difficulty. It clung to my wet body like a second skin. I opened the bathroom door, looked up and down the hallway then sprinted for my own bedroom. That was when I realized I couldn't remember how many doors down the hallway was mine. It was two, surely. Or was it three? I was conscious of the trail of drips behind me, of the puddle forming around me, and my feet freezing on the stone floor. I stood outside the second door and tried to open it. It wouldn't open.

I tapped on it firmly. ”Queenie, let me in, please.”

No answer.

I rapped louder. ”Queenie, for G.o.d's sake open the door.”

The door was flung open suddenly and I found myself staring into the bleary-eyed face of Prince Siegfried. He had obviously just woken from sleep. He looked me up and down, his eyebrows raised in horror.

”I'm so sorry. I must have the wrong room,” I mumbled.

”Lady Georgiana,” he exclaimed. ”Mein Gott. What is the meaning of this? You are not wearing clothes. Most inappropriate. What has befallen you? You have had an accident and fallen into water?” What is the meaning of this? You are not wearing clothes. Most inappropriate. What has befallen you? You have had an accident and fallen into water?”

”I am wearing something but it's rather wet. You see, there were no towels in the bathroom and I forgot which door was mine and...” I was babbling on until I heard Queenie's voice hissing, ”Psst. Down 'ere, miss.”

”Sorry to trouble you,” I said and fled.

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