Little Tongues of Fire

by Barbara Cartland

  Now he found himself wondering, not what Edgar would think of Vina, but what she would think of him.

  He had the uncomfortable feeling that she would not change his way of life, as he had hoped, but merely be shocked by it.

  *

  In the luxurious bedroom where her trunk had been unpacked and preparations made for her bath in front of a small fire, Vina was glad to be alone.

  Her aunt had come into the room, fussing once again over what she should wear and repeating how magnificent the house was and extolling the Duke’s virtue.

  “Tonight you will meet the Duke’s brother,” she said. “You will find him the most charming young man you have ever met in your whole life.”

  Vina was not listening.

  She was becoming tired of hearing her aunt eulogising the Duke and Lord Edgar.

  She wished instead that the dinner party could consist of the soldiers and their wives whom her father had frequently entertained.

  Better still, a party of Indians with their soft singsong voices looking, in Vina’s opinion, far more attractive than any of the people she had met in England.

  When she and her father had travelled about India and, although the Memsahibs thought that it was a mistake to be too familiar with the natives, they had been entertained by Indians of every caste.

  Because her father could speak Urdu and several other Indian languages, he was often sent on special missions, quite outside his Regimental duties, to different parts of the vast country.

  After her mother died Vina had always gone with him and they had stayed in small Indian houses as well as in great Palaces.

  She had come to be nearly as proficient as her father in Urdu and he taught her, without her really realising it, how to use her instincts where people were concerned.

  “To look beneath the surface and to find,” as he put it with a smile, “a man or a woman’s heart.”

  This she had found difficult to do when she first reached England.

  Now, however, that she was more accustomed to being with English people, she found herself able to understand them.

  Although they were often unaware of it, she would know a great deal more about their personalities than they wished other people to realise.

  She was aware that her aunt was frivolous, superficially educated and tremendously impressed by social position.

  It was what Vina had half-expected in England and she was therefore fully aware that her aunt was overwhelmed and delighted to be at Quarington and a guest of the Duke.

  At the same time, because she had a kind nature and would never knowingly hurt anyone if she could help it, Vina was fond of her.

  She could not, however, help thinking that her father would laugh if he knew where she was at the moment and how important it was to his sister-in-law.

  He had warned Vina when they were in India not to say too much about their Indian friends when there were English people present.

  “All the English are snobs at heart,” he had said, “and what is more they surround themselves with social barriers to make life even more difficult than it is already.”

  He had laughed before he added,

  “It is something that you and I, dearest, would never do. But it is a mistake deliberately to invite criticism by saying so.”

  “I know what you mean, Papa,” Vina had answered, smiling, “and the Major’s wife has already given me a lecture about not being too familiar with our Indian servants.”

  “She would!” Colonel Wallace had laughed. “And she would undoubtedly have a fit if she knew where you and I are going to stay tomorrow night.”

  They had been the guests of an Indian who had kept a strange shop on the outskirts of Lahore.

  In it were pieces of jade and crystal, necklaces that came from Tibet, carvings from the Northern Provinces and pictures and miniatures of the Rajputs.

  Vina was also aware that in another room there were clothes in which a man could disguise himself as a Buddhist monk or an untouchable.

  She had the idea, although she did not ask questions, that these were the things that interested her father.

  When they had left he said to her,

  “What did you think of our host?”

  Vina knew that he really valued her opinions and she replied slowly,

  “He is much cleverer than he wishes to appear. He has a perception that is mystic and which he uses rather than his eyes or his mind. I think. Papa, you find him useful in matters that you wish to keep secret.”

  Her father had laughed.

  And then he said,

  “Good girl! I will not tell you what the Indian you so accurately describe said about you, but it was very complimentary!”

  Using her intuition now, Vina thought of the Duke.

  She wondered what she would feel about him if she did not think of his house, his overwhelming presence or his handsome face.

  ‘He is not happy,’ she decided and knew that it was something her Aunt Marjory would never believe.

  When she was dressed for dinner she thought that the white gown they had chosen in Bond Street was very becoming.

  It was draped in the front and the small bustle at the back was of frills of chiffon that trailed a few feet on the floor behind her.

  Her waist was tiny and the bodice above it was embroidered with small turquoises and pearls. She had known as soon as she saw it that she wanted to buy the gown because the turquoise was a lucky stone in the East.

  She had a necklace, given to her by a Maharanee from her own collection and a bracelet to match it. They were not large, but the stones were linked together with the exquisite enamelling that the Indians worked so well and they accentuated the translucence of Vina’s skin.

  She went downstairs slowly, not thinking that she should wait for her uncle and aunt to collect her.

  She entered the drawing room to find that there were only two gentlemen at the far end of it.

  Too late she thought that she should have waited and she was also earlier than any of the other guests.

  The Duke, however, came towards her.

  “I must apologise if I am over-punctual, Your Grace,” Vina said, “but I am sure you will understand that living in a soldier’s house I am always afraid of being late.”

  The Duke laughed.

  “And, of course, reprimanded, as I used to be on parade!”

  “Uncle Alexander can be very severe.” Vina smiled.

  They were walking, as they spoke, towards the fireplace where the other man was still standing. He had not moved when she appeared.

  “Let me introduce you to my brother,” the Duke said. “Lord Edgar Quary – Miss Vina Wallace.”

  Vina put out her hand and, as Lord Edgar took it, she looked up at him and saw an expression in his eyes that startled her.

  She did not understand the reason, she only knew that unlike her feelings about the Duke, she thought quite the opposite of his brother.

  Because he was worried about Edgar’s reaction, the Duke had taken care not to put Vina beside him at dinner.

  He was aware that this decision might surprise Lady Wallace, but, he thought, seeing how attractive Vina was, it would be wise to let Edgar become aware of her attractions before he began to criticise and find fault.

  At the same time he was delighted with Vina and thought that his brother was far more fortunate than he had ever expected he might be.

  Who could imagine that in the General’s family there could be anything so exquisite or so unusual?

  She certainly had no resemblance to the girl he had imagined as Edgar’s wife. He was not sure what Edgar had himself expected.

  She had seemed graceful and very unusual in her travelling dress and bonnet.

  In her evening gown, with her tiny waist encircled by a turquoise satin sash, Vina looked like something out of a picture book.

  The Duke watched her talking quietly, first to the man on one side of her and then to the other.

  He th
ought it would be impossible to imagine that any young girl of her age could be so poised and so unselfconscious.

  Yet he noted that Edgar was being somewhat surly to Lady Wallace and undoubtedly drinking far more wine than was good for him.

  When the Duke led the gentlemen into the drawing room, it was to find the ladies looking like lovely flowers clustered around the fireplace.

  Vina was at the piano, softly playing music that he did not recognise.

  It was, he thought, the kind of haunting melody that commanded attention, although clearly that was not what the pianist intended.

  He knew that it would be a mistake to order Edgar to go and talk to her. He therefore waited until everybody was seated, then walked to the piano.

  Vina glanced up at him with a little smile and went on playing.

  “I had no idea that you are a musician, Miss Wallace,” the Duke remarked.

  “Then you cannot have studied the language when you were in India.”

  The Duke looked puzzled for a moment and then he asked,

  “You mean that ‘Vina’ has a special meaning?”

  “She is the Goddess of Music.”

  “So your mother thought when you were born that it was an appropriate name for you,” the Duke said as if to catch her out.

  “My mother was very musical,” Vina replied, the soft melody still flowing from her fingers. “Therefore, at the time of my birth, my father arranged that a band of Indian musicians who loved her should play in the garden outside the house.”

  She gave him a mischievous little glance as she went on,

  “They played, because they wished to please them, for over twenty-four hours without stopping.”

  The Duke laughed.

  “Then your name is certainly very appropriate and you must excuse my ignorance.”

  Vina took her hands from the keyboard.

  “Would you rather I stopped?”

  “I would like you to do whatever you wish to do,” the Duke replied. “I find what you are playing enchanting, although I do not recognise the piece.”

  “It is not published.”

  “You mean you composed it?”

  She nodded and he said,

  “Then I would certainly like you to go on playing. I am sure, Miss Wallace, you express yourself more easily in music than in words.”

  Vina looked up at him as if she was surprised.

  Then she said,

  “I did not think anyone would understand what I was saying in music, so perhaps it would be wise for me to be careful.”

  “Are you thinking that what I heard you play would either shock or insult me?” the Duke asked.

  Vina laughed.

  “Not as bad as that, but people always resent it if you read their thoughts.”

  “Is that what you have been doing?”

  The Duke had no idea why he asked the question.

  It suddenly came into his mind and he was sure that he was right, Vina, with her strange beauty, had a perception that he knew was peculiarly prevalent in the East.

  As if she knew that he was waiting for an answer, Vina said after a moment,

  “I try not to read people’s secret thoughts – but I cannot help knowing what they are really like – however hard they pretend to be – different.”

  She spoke quite ingenuously, but to the Duke it was a warning.

  As he walked away from the piano, he wondered what Vina would feel about Edgar.

  Perhaps, in consequence, all their carefully laid plans would go awry.

  Chapter Three

  Vina awoke and, for the first time since she had come to Quarington, she felt excited.

  She had dreamt that she was in India, riding with her father.

  When she opened her eyes, she remembered that the Duke had said she could ride this morning.

  Last night, when she had come to bed, she had asked the maid who looked after her at what time the guests usually rode.

  “When it suits ’em, miss,” the maid had replied. “But none of the ladies gets up early. The gentlemen usually go out before breakfast or immediately afterwards.”

  Vina looked at the clock beside her bed and saw that it was not yet six o’clock.

  This was the time that she had always ridden with her father before the heat of the day in India, but she thought in England it was unlikely that anyone would be out so early.

  In her uncle’s house the grooms rarely stirred themselves before seven o’clock.

  She thought therefore that, if she went to the stables, she would not only be able to ride alone but choose a really spirited horse rather than leave it to the Duke.

  Although he had agreed that she could ride what she wished, she was quite certain that because she was so small and unlike Englishwomen who hunted, she would be given a quiet mount.

  Her aunt had told her that her lady’s maid would dress her, but because it was something she had always done, she had put on her riding habit herself.

  She had no difficulty in putting on her riding boots or fastening the shirt of the expensive habit that her aunt had bought for her in London.

  She glanced at herself in the mirror as she put on her riding hat with its gauze veil. With a contented little smile she thought that she looked too smart to be a good rider.

  It made her more certain than ever that she would be palmed off with a horse that, so far as she was concerned, might be a feather bed.

  What she wanted was an animal she had to keep under control and that enjoyed the age-old battle between man and beast.

  She had no difficulty in finding the stables and, as she had hoped, she discovered that the only people in charge were the young stable lads who had risen before the older grooms.

  They touched their forelocks politely as she appeared and one of them accompanied her as she went from stall to stall, thrilled by the magnificence of the Duke’s horses.

  She found it difficult to know which one she preferred.

  Finally she chose a black stallion that was, she thought, even larger and more outstanding than the rest.

  She told the stable lad to saddle him, but he said,

  “That b’aint be no ’orse for a lady, miss.”

  “That is the one I wish to ride,” Vina replied. “So please saddle him.”

  The lad looked doubtful, but he did not argue any further.

  He had some difficulty, however, in saddling the stallion whose name was Hercules.

  Vina helped him by holding the horse and talking to him in the soft coaxing voice that her father had always used on any difficult animal he had ridden.

  At last the stable lad was able to lead Hercules to the mounting block.

  As Vina climbed into the saddle, she knew that this was the most thrilling moment for her since she had come to England.

  She rode out of the stables by the back entrance in case she should encounter anyone coming from the front of the house who might wish to accompany her.

  After a few skirmishes, as Hercules attempted to show his independence, they were off.

  It was not difficult for her to find her way from the paddocks beyond the stable into the flat fields.

  They were perfect for riding and there was also a number of low hedges, which she took without any difficulty.

  Vina then began to explore the countryside with a feeling in her heart that she had escaped from something rather menacing.

  She could not decide what it was except, she told herself, that the house was overwhelming and so was her host.

  She had the feeling that last night the Duke’s guests were looking at her speculatively and also that her aunt, for no apparent reason, was watching her in a way that she had not done before.

  ‘I suppose Aunt Marjory is afraid I shall do something incorrect and shame her,’ she thought with a smile.

  She remembered that when she and her father had dined with the Viceroy, her Papa had not given a second thought to her behaviour.

  Vina had travelled a l
ong way from the house before she told herself that she ought to return.

  She had a sudden longing not to go back, but to go on riding into the far horizon.

  Perhaps she would find something more interesting than the dull and uneventful life that she had endured for the last year.

  She was honest enough to realise that, because she was unhappy without her father, any place would at first have seemed dark and uninviting.

  It was only with a tremendous effort that she forced herself to behave politely and pleasantly to her uncle and aunt and their friends.

  And she found that the only way she could forget all that she had lost was by reading books.

  It was difficult for her to understand that her aunt considered such an occupation a terrible waste of time.

  In fact Lady Wallace was always thinking of ways of making her put down any book that she was interested in.

  This usually meant that she would have to talk to people who she had nothing in common with or do what her aunt found more amusing than anything else, going shopping.

  Now for the moment she was free and, because Hercules was obstreperous to ride, she had first to concentrate on him.

  After several tussles, which she won, she felt as if they now understood each other.

  She was, however, aware that she had to behave correctly, if only for her aunt’s sake.

  So she reluctantly turned Hercules’s head towards home.

  As she did so, she was aware that somewhere in the distance there was a lone rider.

  She thought perhaps it was one of the Duke’s guests and the last thing she wished to do at the moment was to have a banal conversation about the weather.

  Worse still, she might have to listen to some Englishman paying her fatuous compliments.

  There were several men in the party who, she had realised last night, had looked at her with a glint of admiration in their eyes.

  She was quite sure, she thought scornfully, that they had no brains and their conversation would be entirely about racing or the hunts that they had taken part in during the winter.

  It was what the men, young and old, talked about round her uncle’s dining room table and she wished that she could have discussed the Regimental that he could no longer take part in.