The Last of the Firedrakes [Watty Award Winner 2015]

Chapter 2 - REDSTONE MANOR - Part 1

As soon as we got home, I packed my meager belongings in an old duffel bag that Aunt Arianna had brought down for me from the attic. It was splitting at the seams and the handle was torn, but somehow I managed to lug it down the stairs and out onto the street.

My uncle had explained that we were all going on a trip. He and the family had been invited to his boss's country house for a few days, and Uncle Christopher insisted that we leave immediately.

This was why I was pulled out of school? What was so important that it couldn't wait until the holidays?

The last time they went away, Aunt Arianna left me with Mrs. Haversham, who lived across the street. She had two uncontrollable little children, and in way of payment for my room and food, I had to babysit the little devils. It wasn't that I didn't like children, but seven-year-old twin boys were a bit more than I could handle.

A big, black Range Rover was parked outside the house. Uncle Christopher was sitting in the front passenger seat, and a chauffeur in a hat got out and opened the door for me to get in. I handed the chauffeur my luggage and got into the roomy back seat, where Aunt Arianna and Cornelia were waiting.

We drove at a leisurely pace due to the traffic while leaving the city. But within half an hour I could see Windsor Castle rising up in the distance above the treetops, and soon we were in the countryside. Uncle Christopher had mentioned it was going to be a long journey, so I closed my eyes and decided to nap.

* * *

When I woke up with a crick in my neck, it had become chilly, and there was a nip in the air. I gazed out at the trees whizzing past and shivered a little as I pulled my favorite coffee-colored leather jacket closer around me. The spring evening was gloomy as dusk settled over the hills in the distance turning the sky to a dark burnished orange. Bright green meadows and lush woods whizzed past as we drove, but I had no idea which part of the country we were in.

"Another few minutes and you'll be able to see the house," said Uncle Christopher, sitting up straighter in his seat.

I peered out the backseat window. A light mist rolled around our car as if searching for a way to get in. No house in sight! Not that you could see much with twilight setting in. We must have been traveling for hours, and I was exhausted.

Cornelia didn't even bother to look up; she huffed and continued texting away on her new, rose gold iPhone.

When the house finally came into view, I had to admit that Uncle Christopher was right to get so excited. The "house," as he called it, was not just a house—it was a massive, centuries-old structure called Redstone Manor.

As we drove through the gargantuan iron gates and up the grand sweeping driveway lined with old spruces and ancient oak trees, Uncle Christopher chattered on in his irritating nasal voice. "Redstone Manor was built over three hundred years ago, and it has been in my boss's family ever since." He puffed out his chest, as if he had something to do with it.

The manor house was an enormous structure, made up of high walls and towering turrets. It looked more like a miniature castle than a house. Emerald green ivy and flowering creepers of dusky rose climbed the red stone walls, and massive arched windows embellished with decorative paneling lined the sprawling house. It was absolutely enchanting.

"Welcome to Redstone Manor," said my uncle.

As we drove up to the massive front porch supported by great stone pillars, I was more than excited. I had never been inside a real English manor house before, and I was looking forward to exploring the property.

A thin, stern-looking lady with spectacles and a severe white bun stood at the top of the steps to greet us. She introduced herself as the housekeeper, Mrs. Crowley.