The Long Gallery (standard:mystery, 1490 words) [1/6] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Updated: Oct 02 2015	Views/Reads: 12490/2137	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Daisy Truman has inherited Harvest Hall, a rambling country house on the Sussex/Kent border. But why has her uncle left it to her, and what are the memories surrounding her childhood that she cannot recall? Chapter one of my new mystery/drama.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

taunted her would spring to life after dusk. That if they dallied, the 
lion with its hideous sabre teeth would lead the incongruous pack and 
catch and devour them – but most probably her, because he could run 
faster than she could – or that was his boast – 

There came that day when the autumn sun hung low amongst the statues,
extending their shadows into grotesquely menacing shapes stretching 
across the lawn to grasp them, while the wind was lending its support, 
gathering strength, producing a moan that might easily have emanated 
from the lion's mouth, and then cue William, seizing his opportunity to 
torment her, forking out a hand, pushing her in the chest, sending her 
reeling backwards into the path of the advancing monoliths while he 
slipped through the wicket-gate into the main garden, racing for the 
steps leading up to the front entrance of Harvest Hall. 

But then she, staring at those stones, alone, her heart pounding – it
was as though they really were advancing, and in so doing forcing 
renewed vigour into her trembling legs so that she about-turned and ran 
so fast she caught up to him, beating him through the colonnade and 
into the welcoming bulk that was Harvest Hall. The trepidation she felt 
from the garden being replaced by glee at leaving him in her wake. And 
then, only to find the elation as she turned in triumph cut short by 
raised voices from along the balcony above. 

Out of sight and overhead – in the Hall's central feature, The Long
Gallery – a sharp exchange was taking place. 

She'd glanced uncertainly at William, receiving a nod of assent from
him, and curiosity holding sway they'd crept up the broad spiral 
staircase. Somewhere in the shadows, towards the end of the gallery, 
Joshua and her father were having an argument. 

Cautiously they reached the top of the stairway, her head appearing over
the balcony ahead of William's, arced tightly around the curved 
banister to see Uncle Joshua's hands on her father's shoulders, backing 
him against the wall. There were angry words rumbling along the gallery 
to reach her ears that seemed to be delivered from the back of uncle's 
throat – and then suddenly from the foot of the stairwell her aunt's 
voice – ‘Joshua, Henry, are you there? Supper is about to be served. ' 
And then with mounting impatience, Aunt turned and headed for the 
gardens. ‘Those children; where in heaven's name have they gone?' A 
swift about-turn and they were down the stairway, careful that their 
tread didn't create a giveaway creak in the ageing timbers before 
sitting themselves innocently in the west wing morning room when aunt 
returned, plainly not convinced they hadn't been playing hide-and-seek 
with her. 

What were those words Uncle Joshua had uttered that had caused such
consternation on her father's face? 

The words might have been locked away in her memory's unreachable
depths, but the look her father had exhibited had been captured with 
the clarity of a camera lens. She was focusing on it now until the 
sound of Adam's voice, laced with irritability, brought her back to the 
present. ‘What's up, Daisy?' he asked, fingers fidgeting in his trouser 
pockets. ‘I might as well have stayed at home; you're in a world of 
your own again.' 

‘Oh memories – and something I can't fathom.' 

‘Do you want to share them?' 

‘No ...' Daisy gazed at Adam's boyish countenance, aware now that sealed
in her own world she'd been ignoring him. Her reply had been barely 
audible, almost absent, brought back to the present she realised that. 
He was slightly agitated, but concerned nonetheless – and she should be 
more appreciative, only she couldn't confide in him – her own 
uncertainties and frustrations prevented her doing that, and in so 
doing presented a barrier with her good friend, Adam. 

She shook her head, raised a half smile, one that she knew was hardly
convincing. ‘No – it's nothing, really.' 

‘I disagree,' Adam persisted. ‘It must have been something – something
that's had you in its clutches for a good few minutes while I've been 
standing here like one of those useless monuments down there.' 

Oh the naivety of he without wisdom. ‘They're far from useless, believe
me.' Daisy waved aside Adam's querying glance, irritation mounting at 
his persistence, and then, shivering despite the humidity of the day, 
gazed downhill towards the Magic Garden, at the stone animals, 
shadowless on the cloudy day. 

‘Are you going to tell me what's troubling you?' She caught the
undisguised impatience in Adam's voice, felt his arm around her 
shoulders. 

‘I've told you, nothing.' She turned aside, brushing him off and before
he could protest – ‘Let's be getting back; I've a lot to think about.' 
  


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