Red House

By James Milne

Antony Gillingham was expecting the calm of a country estate. Instead he found a man murdered, and a man missing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Milne
• Release date: Mar 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215229774

Book preview

Red House

James Milne

2023-03-05

Red House

Red House

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Cover

Table of contents

Red House

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Copyright (c) 2023 James Milne.

All Rights Reserved.

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Red House

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To the memory of the author of the original, Red House Mystery.

The famous, the ingenious, A. A. Milne.

More than just bears.

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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.

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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 across the width of the hall, to the bedrooms.

Bedrooms that may or may not be intended for the use by Robert Ablett, his exact motivations in this matter - yet unknown.

As Audrey came across the hall, she gave a little start as she spotted a man sitting unobtrusively in a seat beneath one of the front windows, in the library, reading.

There was no reason that Mr. Cayley shouldn’t be there.

It was much cooler than the golf links on a day like today. Yet, somehow, there was a deserted air about the house, as if all the guests were outside, or if they were wiser, within their bedrooms, napping.

The master’s cousin, was a surprise. Audrey blushed at her exclamation, and blurted out quickly, Oh, I begging your pardon, sir. I didn’t see you there.

He looked up from his book, and dazzled her with an incredibly attractive smile, that belied the ugly face that hosted it. He was such a kindly gentleman, and subject to a few private thoughts late in the night, despite his appearance.

Audrey wondered what her master would do without him. The man was more than just kind and upright. For example, if this mysterious brother needed to be bundled off back to Australia, then it would be Mr. Cayley who would be doing most of the bundling.

Audrey caught herself, as she saw a shadow cross the threshold as the ringer of the bell entered the house, unbidden.

She found herself surprised by his appearance. Though she would not admit it, she did not immediately take him for the brother of her master.

The master had a dapper little figure, with a neat pointed beard and a carefully curled moustache. Quick darting eyes, always roving about the company he was in. Registering a small smile when he said something that was taken well, or a more expectant look when he was waiting for his turn to join the conversation.

He was utterly different than the man now before her. A rough looking man, who hadn’t even bothered to tuck in his shirt, and was staring at her with nothing but contempt.

I want to see Mark. The man growled, and it felt every bit to be a threat to the young woman.

Audrey found a smile. She had a smile for everybody. Oh, yes sir. He is expecting you, if you would come this way.

Oh! So you know who I am, eh?

Mr. Robert Ablett? She asked plainly.

Ay, that’s right. So he’s expecting me, eh? He’ll be glad to see me, eh? The man sneered, dripping sarcasm on the floor.

If you will come this way, sir, said Audrey primly.

She strode to the second door on the left, and opened it, Mr. Robert Ab-

The room was empty. She looked around in surprise for a moment, set off-kilter, before she turned to the man behind her. She waved politely inwards, If you will take a seat, sir, I will find the master. I am quite certain he is in, as he told me that you were coming this afternoon.

He gave a noncommital grunt, before looking around the room. What d’ya call this place, eh?

The office, sir.

Office?

She nodded, The room where the master works, sir.

Works, eh? That’s a new one. Wasn’t knowing he’d ever done a stroke o’ work in his life. Robert laughed, a deep and rumbling noise.

Audrey felt her pride flare into fullness, The room where he writes, sir.

The fact that Mr. Mark was a writer, was no small thing to the young housekeep, and her aunt. Not that any in the house, guests or workers, knew the nature of what it was that the master inscribed.

Not fancy enough for the drawing room, eh? The newcomer tugged at his unkempt collar.

I will tell the master you are here, sir, said Audrey decisively.

She closed the door and left him there.

Audrey’s mind was immediately agog with all the things she wanted to tell her auntie. The way that the man spoke, the very way he dressed. He was quiet, but somehow not soft spoken.

The moment she had seen him, she had grown light-headed. He seemed to be a devil, but yet… Perhaps the devil truly was handsome.

Her immediate business was to find the master.

She walked directly across the hall and to the threshold of the library. Glancing in, and hesitating for a moment, before heading in and standing in front of Caley.

She spoke in a low and respectful voice, If you please, sir? Can you tell me where the master is? It is Mr. Robert who has called.

What? Said Cayley, looking up from his book. Who?

Audrey repeated herself politely.

I don’t know. Isn’t he in the office? Cayley asked in mild confusion, He went up to the Temple after lunch. I don’t think I’ve seen him since.

Thankyou, sir. She curtsied quickly, I will go up to the Temple.

Cayley returned to his book.

The Temple, as it was called, was a brick summer house. It was in the gardens, at the back of the house. There, Mark meditated sometimes before retiring to his office, and putting his thoughts to paper.

Such thoughts were not of any great value. They were given as often at the dinnertable as they were immortalised in ink. It was rare that they went from paper and into print.

That did not prevent the master of Red House from being a little pained when a visitor treated his Temple carelessly, as if it had been built for flirtation or cigarette smoking.

Audrey recalled that two of the master’s guests had once been caught playing fives in it. Mark had said nothing at the time, only asking his guests if they could not find somewhere more suitable for their game. However, those very same guests had never appeared at Red House, again.

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Audrey walked slowly up to the Temple, glanced in, and then walked slowly back. She had come all this way, for nothing.

Perhaps the master was upstairs in his room.

Robert’s statement about not being dressed well enough for the drawing room echoed in her mind. A man with a red handkerchief around his neck, and big dusty boots, should not be surprised he wasn’t sitting in the finest room in the house!

A shot rang out - the men shooting rabbits. Her auntie was partial to a decent rabbit, and drenching it in onion sauce.

Joe wasn’t one for rabbit, for some reason. She thought it might have something to do with his mother. That woman simply could not cook. Her idea of a family meal, was two boiled vegetables - joined with boiled meat.

She also seemed to have a fear of undercooking meat, so that by the time it appeared on a plate in front of you, it was time that you show just how excellent your social and politeness skills were. It took more than a mere smile, when the strange lump failed to part upon your teeth.

Audrey fanned her face as she began her walk back towards the house. The heat was really much worse than it usually was. Mr. Robert, thankfully, wasn’t staying the night. He had arrived with no luggage. Of course, she might be wrong.

Joe got far too much entertainment from declaring when she did get things wrong. He always apologised, most profusely, and said that it was because she didn’t get things wrong, enough. That as he struggled to be right, it was too much to celebrate, when she eventually did.

Mr. Mark could lend to Robert, of course, acting as a brother to another. The master had clothes enough for six.

Audrey entered the house, and headed down the hall. As she passed the housekeeper’s room, the door opened suddenly, and a rather frightened face appeared.

’Allo, Aud. Elsie, one of the handmaids, said quickly, and turned back to the room, It’s Audrey!

Come in, Audrey. Called Mrs. Stevens.

What’s up? Said Audrey curiously, looking at the door.

Her aunt’s voice came a little breathlessly, Oh, my dear. You gave me such a turn! Where have you been?

Up to the Temple. She said, feeling irritation at the wasted efforts, but curious why her aunt seemed so off kilter.

Did you hear anything?

She shrugged, Hear something?

Oh! Explosions, and bangs, and terrible, terrible things! Her aunt sounded beyond frazzled.

Oh! Audrey said with some relief. I heard one of the men shooting rabbits. I instantly thought of you, and your wonderful roasted rabbit. I thought it might be -

Rabbits! Her aunt said scornfully. It came from inside the house, girl.

Elsie nodded quickly, Straight it were! I said it, didn’t I, Mrs. Steven? Didn’t I? I said it were inside the house!

Audrey looked by the woman to her aunt, and then back. She felt herself go very pale, and asked quietly, Do you think he had a revolver with him?

Who? Elsie’s eyes lit up excitedly.

His… Brother. Audrey felt lightheaded, The Australian. I said as soon as I set my eyes on him, he was a bad lot. That’s what I thought, Elsie. Even before he spoke a word to me. I swear it.

If you recall, Audrey, I always said there was no safety, not with anyone from Australia. Mrs. Steven said breathlessly, I’m not leaving this room. Not now. Not with someone shooting in the house! Not for a hundred thousand pounds.

Audrey ducked into the room, Elsie closing the door behind her, as the three trembling women hunkered down the only way that they knew how.

Oh, Mrs. Stevens. Said Elsie, who was known to make a turn for five shillings if she saw a pair of shoes that she wanted. I… I wouldn’t quite go so far as that. Not myself, but -

Hush! Cried Mrs. Stevens, lurching to her feet with a start.

They listened anxiously, the two girls instinctively moving in closer to the older woman.

A door, somewhere, was being shaken. Kicked, and rattled.

Listen!

Audrey and Elsie stared at each other, fear building in their eyes with each angry shake of furniture. The idea of some monster, somewhere. Some dangerous creature that did not deserve to be called human, waving weaponry thoughtlessly.

A man’s voice rose. Quickly moving from distant rumblings to intelligible roars. Open the door! Open this door!

Don’t. By God, don’t. Mrs. Stevens trembled, as if it were their own door that the man was yelling at. Audrey, Elsie… Don’t let him in.

Damn it to hell! Open this door! The voice crashed against the air.

Terrified, the three women gathered in closer, huddling with their arms around each other. Waiting.

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Chapter Two

Whether Mark Ablett was the epitomy of boredom, depended on your point of view. However, it may be said that he never once bored those whose company he enjoyed, with the story of his early life.

However, nothing ever stays truly silent.

There is always somebody who knows. The rumour mill speaks and consolidates until they converge on some sort of understanding. In this case, that the father of Mark, had been a country clergyman.

That the boy, the young Mark, attracted the notice and patronage of old spinster of the neighbourhood. That they paid for his education, both at school and university. It was as he was finishing at Cambridge, that his father died.

The elder man leaving behind him a few debts, as a hollow pain to his family, and a reputation for short sermons, as a mild curse to his successor. Not that either thing was lasting in any sort of manner.

Mark went to London, on allowance from his patron, and there he fell in with money lenders. It was there that he took up his writing, though the rumours on what content he wrote is not agreed upon by the crowd.

Except, perhaps, that he regularly wrote for more time to pay his father’s debts.

Yet, Mark Ablett was a regular at the theatre, and even more regular at music halls. An exploration of the decadence of the English stage, the new philosophies of London town.

Tales of slaves, drowning in seas of soot. The cogs creaking, pistons pounding, as London town voiced revolutions of the working class. Trying to find their voice in a fast and changing world. Reckless as the steam rail.

Fortunately for Mark, his patron died during his third year in London, and left