Fire in the Blood

by Barbara Cartland

  “Rather a wedding than all this pomp and circumstance for somebody who cannot enjoy it,” Lord Silvester remarked.

  Again Pandia wanted to laugh, but because she thought she should behave in a more circumspect way she looked straight ahead of her, her hands clasped together inside her muff.

  The Duke was to be buried in the family vault, which was just outside the West door.

  The relations gathered round for the last part of the Burial Service and as they did so Pandia realised there were not very many of them.

  There was a very old woman who leant on a stick and two or three quite young girls who she supposed were grandchildren or possibly even great-grandchildren. The rest were mostly middle-aged or elderly men who stood bareheaded in the sharp biting wind with the snowflakes lying on their shoulders.

  The snow was blown onto her face and it was so cold that Pandia shivered.

  Then she felt Lord Silvester take her arm and draw her back towards the door of the Church.

  “No, please,” she said quickly, “I cannot – leave until it is – over.”

  “My mother always used to say,” Lord Silvester replied “that one funeral in the winter breeds a host of others and there is no point in your getting pneumonia.”

  “I don’t think I shall do that.”

  “Well, perhaps I shall and I certainly have no intention of catching a streaming cold and coughing and spluttering for the next few weeks.”

  Still holding her by the arm, he drew her through the side door by which they had entered, saying as they did so,

  “We will go back to The Castle and, if our relatives had any sense, they would not have allowed Lady Anne to come out on a day like this.”

  “Lady Anne?” Pandia questioned.

  “The Duke’s sister who lived with him. She is eighty-seven and far too old to be here, at least on her own feet!”

  Lord Silvester’s eyes were twinkling as he spoke and, because it seemed impossible to protest at what he was doing, Pandia let him draw her down the short path to where the carriages were waiting.

  “May I travel with you?” he asked. “I will tell my carriage to follow us.”

  He helped her in, then, without waiting for her to reply, told the footman to wait while he gave instructions to his own servants.

  He was only away for about a minute before he returned, stepped in beside Pandia and pulled half the fur rug over his knees.

  The horses moved off and he turned to her to say, “Well, are you going to answer my question?”

  “What question?”

  “Which Goddess are you?”

  “My name is Pandia!”

  Even as she spoke, Pandia was aware that, bemused by Lord Silvester, she had made a terrible mistake.

  Quickly she said to cover it up,

  “That is what my father always – called me, but everybody knows me by – my other name – which is Selene.”

  “I never fancied her particularly,” Lord Silvester replied. “She was far too promiscuous and it was most unfair of her to get poor Endymion condemned to eternal sleep.”

  Pandia chuckled, no longer trying to repress the laughter that had been bubbling inside her all through the Church Service.

  “But Pandia was a very different cup of tea,” he went on, “and I remember she was ‘remarkable for her beauty amongst the immortals’.”

  Pandia stared at him.

  “How can you know that? How are you so knowledgeable about Greek Gods and Goddesses?”

  “It is a subject that interests me enormously,” Lord Silvester replied, “and incidentally the Gods have been kind, for I have found it very lucrative.”

  Pandia stared at him. Then she exclaimed,

  “Stone! You cannot be J. Stone?”

  “You have heard of me?”

  “Of course I have! I adored Forgotten Tongues. And Papa also was thrilled by it and thought it was the most interesting book that had ever been written on the forgotten languages.”

  Now Lord Silvester stared at her.

  “Are you telling me that you have read it too?”

  “I enjoyed every word of it! It is the only book I have ever read that made Sanskrit seem at all understandable, and what you wrote about the Greeks helped Papa enormously with the translation he was doing at the time.”

  “Translation?” Lord Silvester exclaimed. “What is your father’s name?”

  “Micklos Hunyadi.”

  Lord Silvester gave a cry and, reaching out, took her hand in his.

  “Now I understand, why the moment I saw you, or rather the second moment, I thought you were from Olympus! Only a Grecian Goddess could have a straight little nose like yours!”

  “You have read Papa’s books?”

  “I have read every one of them. What is he writing at the moment?”

  Pandia looked away from him.

  “Papa is – dead!”

  She was just about to add that he died last week when she remembered hastily that in that case she should be wearing deeper mourning than she was at the moment, which would undoubtedly not include a coat trimmed with chinchilla.

  “I am sorry,” Lord Silvester said, “not only because you have lost him, but because every word he wrote was like a light in a very dark world.”

  Pandia gave a deep sigh.

  “How can you – understand?” she asked, then added, “But of course, when I think of what you have written, it is obvious that you can.”

  She well remembered her father sending for Forgotten Tongues and saying,

  “It is extravagant of me, but I could not resist this book when I heard it had been published. I read it all last night and found it impossible to put down. I know you will feel the same.”

  Pandia had loved every word.

  It was all that her father tried to convey from the Greek and J. Stone, whoever he might be, had translated the Vedas from the Sanskrit making many things clear that she had not understood before.

  Also by some brilliant research of his own, he had discovered fragments of the Egyptian Book of the Dead, which her father had said had been lost since the time of the Pharaohs.

  She felt as if every word sparkled like a jewel and she had read it and re-read it.

  Just as it had helped her father with his translations of the Greek, so it had helped her to help him.

  “I never thought I would ever meet you!” she said aloud.

  “And I never thought that you existed,” Lord Silvester replied.

  Because there was an intense note in his voice and Pandia was suddenly aware that he was still holding her hand, she quickly took it from him, putting it back into her muff.

  “What was your father writing before he died?” Lord Silvester asked.

  “His book is not quite finished.”

  “Will you finish it?”

  “I am going to try.”

  “I think you should let me help you.”

  Pandia was just about to say that this would be the most wonderful thing that could happen, when she remembered that after today she would never see Lord Silvester again.

  Without replying, she turned her head to look out through the window and exclaim,

  “The snow is getting heavier!”

  “Very much heavier,” Lord Silvester agreed. “Have you come from London?”

  “Yes and I have to return there.”

  “It may be impossible.”

  “I am sure it will be all right,” Pandia said, “but I must get away as soon as I possibly can.”

  He did not protest, but merely enquired,

  “Tell me more about your father’s work. I have often wanted to meet him, but I have not been in England very often these past years.”

  “Where have you been?”

  Pandia asked the question eagerly.

  Then, as he started to tell of his travels, she realised with surprise that they had now reached The Castle.

  It was difficult to see what it looked like outside because the snow
was falling thicker and faster than it had before.

  Inside, however, it was exactly, she thought, what the castle of a Duke should be.

  In the huge hall there was an immense fireplace of carved marble in which one massive log of wood was burning.

  There were suits of armour against the panelled walls and a number of tattered flags that must once have been captured in battle.

  The butler suggested that Pandia might like to go upstairs and, when she reached a very large and impressive bedroom, there were two maids to assist her to remove her coat and a silver basin in which there was hot water in which to wash her hands was brought in.

  The bed was a Medieval oak four-poster with deep carvings and the casements were diamond-paned, through which she could see the snow falling white and relentlessly obliterating the garden and the Park. “It’s nasty weather, my Lady,” one of the maids said to her, “and those who were at the funeral will find it hard to get home.”

  “I hope not,” Pandia replied. “I have to return to London.”

  The elderly housemaid who had spoken to her pressed her lips together.

  “I doubt if your Ladyship’ll reach London tonight. The horses won’t see their way through snow like this.” “I am sure you are wrong – ”

  Then thinking that, like all servants she was merely dramatizing the situation, Pandia quickly went downstairs and was not surprised to find Lord Silvester waiting for her in the hall.

  Chapter Four

  Gathered in the Baronial dining hall, there were about thirty-five people, most of whom Pandia saw at a glance were very old.

  Two or three others arrived after she had come downstairs and, as they chose what they wished to eat from a table groaning with food, she was thankful that nobody seemed to wish to talk to her.

  “Suppose you sit down,” Lord Silvester said, “and I will tell the servants to bring you what I think you would like.”

  “Thank you,” Pandia replied.

  She was overawed at the enormous choice there was of great sides of roast beef, chicken, game, a boar’s head and innumerable other dishes about which she had only read in books, or heard described by her mother.

  Because it appeared that it was not known how many would be coming to The Castle, there were a number of small round tables in the dining hall and when everybody was seated there were at least half-a-dozen empty.

  As Lord Silvester sat down beside her, he was obviously aware of what she was thinking and said,

  “Everybody with any sense has gone straight home from the Church. The snow is growing steadily heavier and, unless you have a celestial chariot waiting for you, you will have to stay here for the night.”

  Pandia started and replied,

  “I cannot do that. I have to get back.”

  “Why?”

  Then, before she could reply, he added in a cynical tone, “I imagine, as your husband is in Paris, some ardent swain is waiting for you and who shall blame him if he is impatient?”

  “There is nobody like that!”

  Pandia spoke so positively that he looked at her quizzically.

  “You can hardly expect me to believe there are not dozens, if not hundreds, of men kneeling at your feet and extolling your beauty.”

  Because it sounded so ridiculous, Pandia laughed before she answered,

  “Everything you are saying is – untrue.”

  Then she realised it was what Selene would expect and she was sure that, besides Prince Ivor, she had a number of admirers who might be exactly as Lord Silvester had described.

  Because she did not want to talk about herself, she said, “Tell me who everybody is. I feel I have been rather rude in not talking to anybody but you.”

  “That is exactly what I want you to do,” he said, “and as Lady Anne has very wisely gone upstairs, this lot, as far as I can see, are of no great significance.”

  He spoke vaguely and Pandia suggested,

  “I expect really you don’t know them yourself as you have been abroad so much.”

  He smiled.

  “I confess I am out of touch with my relatives and, although the Duke was not only my father’s cousin but also my Godfather, I am not expecting to benefit from his will.”

  “Why not? It is usual for Godparents to leave their Godchildren something.”

  “His Grace disliked the way I lived,” Lord Silvester answered.

  “That is what I want to hear about.”

  “I would much rather talk about you.”

  “Anything I could tell you would be very very dull beside all that you have achieved. When will your next book be published?”

  “In two days’ time!”

  “Oh, no! How exciting! What is it called?”

  “I shall tell you nothing about it until I can bring it to you and lay it as a tribute at your feet.”

  “No, please, tell me now!” Pandia pleaded.

  As she spoke, she had the uncomfortable feeling that she was stepping into deep water as far as Selene was concerned.

  If he really brought his book to Selene, thinking he was giving it to her, he would undoubtedly be astonished to find her sister knew practically nothing about the Greeks and had always been bored by what her father had tried to teach them.

  ‘It is all a mistake,’ Pandia said to herself, ‘but how could I have known, how could I have guessed for one moment, that J. Stone, of all people in the world, would be sitting next to me at the funeral?’

  “What is worrying you?” Lord Silvester asked.

  “How do you know I am – worried?”

  “Your eyes tell me that you are very worried, and that something is upsetting you. I want you to tell me about it.”

  “You are mistaken,” Pandia said quickly. “I am worrying about the snow and how I shall get back to London. Otherwise, I assure you, I am delighted to have met you.” She spoke in the light manner that she thought Selene would have done and he persisted,

  “There is something wrong! Now you are on the defensive and trying to erect barriers between us, which is something it is impossible for you to do, as you must be aware.”

  “I-I don’t know what you are – saying.”

  “Look at me.”

  Because he commanded her to do so and without really thinking, she raised her eyes to his. Then in some unaccountable fashion it was impossible to look away.

  “You are just not real!” he said very quietly. “You are what I was searching for all the time I was in Greece!”

  The way he spoke made Pandia feel a very strange sensation in her breast, which she had never known before.

  She felt he was hypnotising her in a magical way and it would be impossible for her to escape.

  Then a footman at her side asked, “Champagne, my Lady?” and the spell was broken.

  Pandia refused, but Lord Silvester suggested,

  “Have a little. It will warm you after the cold of the churchyard.”

  “I think it is you who are feeling the cold. When did you come home?”

  “I arrived back from India a week ago.”

  “Then of course you feel the cold and you must be very careful to wrap up.”

  “Are you taking care of me?” Lord Silvester asked.

  It flashed through Pandia’s mind that it was something she would like to do, but she answered again in what she thought was the way Selene would have spoken,

  “I expect there are a great many lovely ladies only too willing to do that!”

  “I can promise you truthfully, that none of them is as lovely as you!”

  “You are very flattering and, although I was called after one of the Goddesses, I assure you that I am very human with, I am afraid, a great many human failings.”

  “I shall look forward to discovering what they are.” There was an intense note in his voice and Pandia felt once again that strange sensation within her.

  “I am sure now I should be leaving,” she said quickly, “but before I go I should like, as she is my hoste
ss, to meet Lady Anne.”

  Lord Silvester pushed back his chair.

  “I will go to find out if it is possible for you to speak to her.” He walked away and immediately an elderly woman rose from a nearby table to take his place.

  “I know you are the Countess of Linbourne,” she said, “and I am a second cousin of poor dear Rudolph and therefore a distant relative of your husband.”

  “I am so sorry my husband could not be present today,” Pandia said politely.

  “It was kind of you to represent him,” the woman said. “I hope you will not have too difficult a journey going back to London. We, fortunately, live on the estate and so does nearly everybody else here.”

  She looked around the room and added,

  “Lord Granville, who represented the Queen insisted on returning to Windsor as soon as the funeral was over. So, I noticed, did the Lord Lieutenant who was sitting next to you. He had quite some way to go to the other end of the County.”

  Pandia began to grow nervous.

  “If the snow is so bad,” she said, “I really must leave immediately!”

  “I think you would be wise to do so.”

  Pandia rose to her feet. Then the Duke’s cousin, as if she wanted to show her off, introduced her to several other people in the room.

  They all shook their heads when she said she was returning to London and she found that it was true that they all lived locally, either on the estate or within a mile or so of The Castle.

  She was getting more worried than she had been before when Lord Silvester came back into the dining room.

  “Lady Anne would be delighted to see you,” he said. “She is upstairs in her boudoir, but she did not feel well enough to meet many people. She is also very upset by her brother’s death.”

  “I can understand that,” Pandia said.

  They walked side by side into the hall, but, before Pandia turned towards the stairs, she said to the butler,

  “Will you please order my carriage? I must leave as soon as I have seen her Ladyship.”

  Then she walked up the broad stairway, very conscious of the man walking by her side and at the same time looking around because this was her one opportunity to see The Castle.

  “Tell me about the pictures,” she asked, as they reached the long corridor at the top of the stairs.