Red House

Red HouseRed HouseChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenChapter TwentyChapter Twenty OneChapter Twenty Two Cover Table of contents Red House James Milne 2023-03-05 Red House Copyright (c) 2023 James Milne. All Rights Reserved. Red House To the memory of the author of the original, “Red House Mystery”. The famous, the ingenious, A. A. Milne. More than just bears. Chapter One In the drowsy heat of the summer afternoon the Red House sat quietly, tiredly. There was a lazy murmur of bees in the flower-borders, a gentle cooing of pigeons in the tops of the elm trees. From distant lawns came the whir of a lawn mower, that most invasive of sounds that still told you that you were in the countryside. A sound that turns sweet, when you consider that it is others working, and not your very own self. In the housekeeper’s room, the parlour maid was taking a moment for herself. She was re-trimming her very best hat, and idly taking to her aunt - the cook, housekeeper, and general essential everything to Mr. Mark Ablett. Mrs. Stevens idly glanced at the hat, “For Joe?” Audrey nodded, and took a pin from her mouth, sliding it into the hat, “He likes a little pink, on a woman.” “I wouldn’t say I mind a bit of pink.” Her aunt replied approvingly, “Joe Turner is not the only one.” “It doesn’t suit everyone.” Said Audrey, taking her hat off again and holding it out at arm’s length. “It is stylish, isn’t it?” “Style comes with the person. It suits you just fine, and would have even suited myself, at your age.” Her aunt said reassuringly, “It is too dressy for me now. I am not one to pretend I am not, what I am. I am fifty five, and thus, I am fifty five.” “Fifty-eight, isn’t it, auntie?” Mrs. Stevens maintained an air of dignity as she replied, “Twas just an example.” Audrey threaded her needle, before pausing to check that she hadn’t scratched her nails, and then began the critical moment. Sewing the new ribbon into her finest hat. “Strange thing, about Mr. Mark’s brother.” Audrey referred to the talk of the day, “Fancy not seeing your brother for fifteen years! Wonder what it is that I would do, if I did not see Joe for fifteen years.” “As I told you this morning,” Her aunt stated with a touch of bitterness, “I have been here five years, and had not even heard of a brother. I could say that before everybody if I was to die tomorrow. There has been no brother while I have been here.” The older woman adjusted her legs, and ruffled her dress, suddenly uncomfortable with herself. “It was an utter shock when he spoke about him at breakfast, this morning. I didn’t hear what went before, naturally, but they were speaking about the brother when I went in. Was it for toast? No. Hot milk. Well, I went in, and-” “Mr. Marks turned to you, and stated that his brother was coming. Addressing you as his guest, as is his way when issuing his orders.” Audrey rolled her eyes. “A brother! From Australia, of all the places!” Her aunt exclaimed, “Apparently he had been living there for the last fifteen years. With Mr. Marks not even raising a pip about the man in the last five, not whilst I have been here.” “I heard him telling of the fifteen years, to Mr. Cayley.” Audrey nodded, “Mr. Cayley hadn’t heard of when he was last in England. That was why he asked of Mr. Mark, this morn.” “I daresay he has had his reasons for dwelling so long in such a colony.” Mrs. Stevens stated knowingly. “What reasons?” She asked lightly. “Never you mind the reasons. Since your mother died, Audrey, acting as the closest thing to a mother that you have…” Her aunt grew slightly grim, “When a gentleman goes to Australia, he has his reasons. And when he stays in Australia, for fifteen years as Mr. Mark says, he has his reasons. And a respectable girl knows not to ask what the reasons may be. Not a single question.” “I suppose he got into trouble.” Audrey replied carelessly, “They were saying at breakfast he had a wild streak. Debts and everything. I am glad that Joe isn’t like that. He has fifteen pound in his savings. Did I tell you?” More talk of Joe Turner, that afternoon, was not to be. At the ringing of a distant bell, Audrey launched directly to her feet. No longer the quiet girl, but now Miss. Stevens. She arranged the cap quickly with a final glance in the mirror. “There, that’s the front door.” She said, “That will be him. Mr. Mark asked me to show him to the office when he came calling. I suppose he doesn’t want the other ladies and gentlemen to see him. Though, I suppose they’re all out at their golf, anyhow. I wonder if he’ll stay? Oh my! Perhaps he’s brought back gold from Australia! If any-” “Now, now, Audrey.” Her aunt admonished her. “Going, darling.” She replied, as she left the room. To any who might have walked down the drive in that August sun, the open door of the Red House revealed a delightfully inviting hall. Even the mere sight of it was cooling, a refreshing comfort. It was a big low-roofed, oak-beamed place. With cream-washed walls and diamond-paned windows dressed with blue curtains. On the right and left were doors leading into other living rooms. On the side which faced you, as you came in, were yet more windows. Looking out onto a small grass court. A breeze drifted lazily through the house, from open window to open window. The staircase went up in broad, low steps, along the right handed wall. And turning to the left, led you along a gallery, which ran