The Last of the Firedrakes (2 page)

After an hour of crying and feeling sorry for myself, I finally managed to dry my tears and wash my face. I had to try and pull myself together so I could get to my next class. I looked in the mirror. My face was all blotchy, and my usually bright green eyes were dull and tinged with red.

I dragged myself out of the bathroom and managed to slip into my English class. I sat at the back, where I would not attract undue attention, and tried to listen as Mr. Roberts warbled on about the significance of Shakespeare’s
As You Like It
, but my mind was elsewhere.

I knew my grades had slipped drastically, and I was working on it, but there were some days that I still could not function properly. I would just lie in my bed for hours, thinking about my adoptive parents and all the good years when I had a real family. They may not have been my birth parents, but they cared for me as if I was their real daughter.

My mind was filled with memories that I held on to like a lifeline. Picnics in the park, holidays by the sea, people who actually loved me—and then I would realize that it was gone, that I was all alone and nobody wanted me. And I would cry into my pillow at night, muffling my sobs so that Cornelia would not hear me.

I had long ago given up wondering about my birth parents: who they were and why they gave me up. No one ever had any answers, and soon I stopped asking altogether. But now I was having this dream, and I didn’t know if it was a real memory or just a figment of my imagination. I tried not to think about it, but the mysterious woman in a crimson cloak who held a dagger to my mother’s heart seemed all too real.

The medallion I wore around my neck was my only link to my birth parents, and I never took it off. It was all I had with me when I was adopted. I turned it around between my fingers. It looked like a small gold coin. But the carvings on it were in a script that I could not recognize. It was my lucky charm, and, although it wasn’t much, just having it with me made me feel safe.

“Aurora Darlington,” came the crisp voice of Ms. Holden, the headmistress of my school, snapping me jarringly out of my reverie. I looked up. I hadn’t even noticed her come into the classroom.

What had I done now? I wasn’t exactly the best student these days. I knew that. But I had made it a point to scrape through just enough to stay out of the headmistress’s office until now.

“Aurora, I’d like to see you in my office,” said Ms. Holden. She nodded perfunctorily at the bespectacled Mr. Roberts, who looked utterly terrified of her, and walked out of the room.

I gathered my books and bag and got up from my desk. A few girls sniggered behind me, but I was used to it. Ever since my parents died, everyone spoke to me in hushed voices, as if I might crack any minute, or they talked and whispered about me behind my back. I had learned to ignore it and move on.

Nothing, however, could be worse than the humiliation I had experienced earlier today at the hands of my horrible cousin. Now I knew exactly what they were laughing about. I hung my head and hurried out of the classroom.

Headmistress Holden’s office was much smaller than I had expected. As I closed the door behind me, I noticed a man was sitting in one of the chairs with his back towards me. Ms. Holden went and sat down opposite him and directed me to the chair near the man. I walked forward and turned to stare at the familiar face of my uncle, Christopher Darlington.

He had a long, angular face, with dark brooding eyes hidden behind horn-rimmed glasses. His hair was a dirty blond color, like wet sand. He was wearing his usual grey pinstripe suit and was dabbing his sweaty forehead with a crumpled handkerchief, which he dug out of his pocket.

What was he doing here? Was I in trouble?

“Good afternoon, Aurora,” said my uncle.

I nodded at him.

Christopher didn’t hate me like my aunt and cousin, but most of the time he treated me like I wasn’t even there. He wasn’t mean to me, but he never stood up for me either. We barely said two words to each other, and I only saw him at dinnertime. He worked at a bank or something and was out of the house before I woke up.

Ms. Holden cleared her throat before she began.

“Aurora, my dear,” Ms. Holden said, in a voice so different from her usual rude, clipped tones that I was momentarily taken aback. She always had a sour look on her face, as though she had just eaten a whole bowl of lemons. I had never even seen a flicker of a smile on her face, and now she was grinning away like her life depended on it.

I stared at her and back at my uncle. What was he doing here? What had I done now?

“Now Aurora,” said Ms. Holden, “your uncle has requested for you to take a leave of absence from school.”

“What! Why? Right now?” I blurted out. No one had said anything about this.

“Let me finish,” said Ms. Holden sternly. “Your grades have been steadily slipping and you have barely passed most of your classes this year. Nevertheless, I have decided to grant you leave this time, since your uncle has explained the circumstances.”

“Which are?” I asked, looking at my uncle, who remained quiet.

“I am sure your uncle will explain it to you,” Ms. Holden said.

It was strange; my uncle hadn’t mentioned anything last night at dinner. I decided I would ask him later. And I wasn’t too disappointed; after all, missing so many days of school would be great. And that meant I would be away from all the pointing and whispering, which had been happening since the whole school heard about my incident with Alex Carrington.

Ms. Holden and my uncle stood up and shook hands.

“Thank you,” said Uncle Christopher to my headmistress. “You have been most helpful. I will have her back in a few days.”

He walked across the room and opened the door. “Come on, Aurora, we have a busy day ahead,” he said, exiting the principal’s gloomy office.

I remained silent, gathered my things, and followed my uncle out of the school. I had no idea what was going on, but I was sure I was going to find out soon enough.

2

Redstone Manor

As soon as we got home, I packed my meager belongings—a few jeans and T-shirts, an old tracksuit of Cornelia’s, a pair of pajamas, and my toothbrush—in an old duffel bag that Aunt Arianna had found 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? And how come they were taking me with them?

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 at first, 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 said 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, we were driving past meadows and farms and acres of woods. I had no idea which part of the country we were in. It had suddenly become colder, and there was a nip in the air. Although it was spring, the weather was temperamental. I looked out at the trees whizzing past and shivered a little as I pulled my favorite brown leather jacket closer around me.

It was a cold and gloomy spring evening. As we finally neared our destination, a light mist rolled around our car as if searching for a way to get in. I peered out of the backseat window. No house in sight! Not that you could see much with twilight just setting in.

We must have been traveling for hours, and I was exhausted.

“Another few minutes and you will be able to see the house,” said Uncle Christopher chirpily, as if the long journey hadn’t affected him in the least.

Cornelia didn’t even bother to look up; she just huffed and continued texting away on her new iPhone.

When the house finally came into view, I was taken aback. For the first time, I had to admit that Uncle Christopher was right to get so excited. The “house,” as my uncle 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 long gravel driveway lined with old spruces and ancient oak trees, Uncle Christopher chattered on in his irritating nasal voice.

“Redstone Manor was built three hundred years ago, and it has been in my boss’s family ever since,” he said proudly, as if he had something to do with it.

It was a huge pile of high walls, turrets, massive pointed gables, and pinnacles with ornate chimney stacks. It looked more like a mini castle than a house. Ivy and creepers climbed the walls, and massive arched windows embellished with decorative panels lined the sprawling structure. It was absolutely enchanting.

“Welcome to Redstone Manor,” said my uncle.

As we drove up to the massive front door of the house, I was 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 was standing at the top of the steps to greet us. She introduced herself as the housekeeper, Mrs. Pitts. Standing to her right was a portly man, smartly dressed, with his shoes polished to perfection. He was Mr. Martins, the butler.

“Welcome to Redstone Manor, Mr. Darlington,” he said.

“Yes, yes, glad to be here,” said Christopher, puffing out his chest. He was obviously feeling very important right about now. I wondered what his boss was like. His house was nice, that’s for sure.

Uncle Christopher cleared his throat. “When will I be able to meet Lord Oblek?” he asked.

“His Lordship was delayed. He will meet with you tomorrow when he returns,” said Mr. Martins.

“Follow me and I will show you to your rooms,” said Mrs. Pitts crisply. “I will have some food brought up to you, as you must be tired from your long journey. The footmen will take your luggage up to your rooms.”

My uncle and aunt nodded and beamed as if they were walking into Buckingham Palace. We followed the housekeeper up the broad stone steps and into the massive house.

The great arched wooden doors opened into a massive foyer, which had a grand staircase that led to the upper floors. Statues and huge paintings lined the walls of the mahogany-paneled corridors, but I hardly noticed. I just fiddled with my medallion and followed Mrs. Pitts, my mind on other things.

I couldn’t understand what we were doing here. Uncle Christopher worked at a bank. Did he really work for the person who owned this house? And why did the butler refer to this Oblek guy as His Lordship? Was he a lord? An earl? A duke? It was all very strange. How would my uncle know a lord of the realm?

Mrs. Pitts showed me to my room and left me to unpack and freshen up. Cornelia and I had a whole suite of rooms, with two bedrooms and a large comfortable living room.

My bedroom was beautifully decorated with green-and-pink flowered wallpaper and matching curtains. Cornelia’s room, which was even bigger than mine, adjoined the living room on the other side, opposite my room. I didn’t want her presence to spoil my experience here. I had already decided that I was going to make the most of this place. I liked history and being in a house this old made me very curious to explore.

I wandered around the room and sat on the edge of my bed. I wished for the thousandth time that my life were different, that somehow my adoptive parents hadn’t died in the car crash. I even wondered occasionally what my life would have been like if my birth parents hadn’t given me up. Definitely better than this, I was sure. But it was no use wondering; it was not going to bring anybody back.

There was a tray laid out in the living room, so I had a little of the tomato soup and two of the chicken sandwiches, which were very good.

I left my mobile phone on the bed and went for a shower. We had been traveling in the car for most of the day, and I was tired. I couldn’t sleep, however, without reading for a while, so I decided to go and look for a book after dinner. Surely a house this large and old had a library.

After I had my bath and changed into my pajamas I put on my pink fleece dressing gown and resolved to wander around the house.

I walked quickly down the long corridors of the massive manor house, occasionally passing white-capped maids in uniform shuffling busily out of rooms, arms laden with linens or clothes. Moonlight streamed in through the windows, and the corridor ahead was illuminated by a spectral white sheen. Finally I stopped one of the maids and asked for directions. I was pointed towards another, darker wing of the house.

It was eerie in the east wing, and cobwebs hung in the corners of the shadowy corridors. I tried a few doors and found myself in various stuffy rooms with white dust covers that obscured the furniture. This part of the house looked like it hadn’t been lived in for a long time, and the rooms smelled musty and unused.

I nearly gave up my search when finally I came across huge wooden double doors at the end of the corridor. I pushed the heavy door open slightly and peered inside.

This was it, the library. Great, finally! Now if only I could find a good book.

The beautiful, oak-lined library was a remarkable space. It was the only room in this part of the house that looked like it was cleaned every day and pristinely kept. A first-floor gallery ran along one side of the gigantic room, adorned by an intricately crafted, church-like ceiling. Two large leather armchairs were placed on opposite sides of a small round mahogany reading table, and the wooden floor was covered with plush Persian rugs. Along one wall, two immense bay windows, both hosting a comfortable cushion-covered window seat, overlooked the vast manicured gardens of Redstone Manor.