Read Online BLACKDOWN (a thriller and murder mystery) by D. M. Mitchell - Free Book Online Page A

silent, he thought, as he trudged slowly towards the place of his birth; neither the sounds of birds of the singing of the wind through the trees. Deathly silent and still, he mused, only the scrape of his boots on the solid earth and the stones of the ruined road, and the rasping of his breathing as he came to stand before the pillared portico of the house. The huge Corinthian pillars, cracked and stained, were caked in ivy, the stems of which were so thick they must have been here some considerable time.
    The many windows lining Blackdown Manor were empty and black, one or two panes broken he noticed, some of them with heavy drapes blocking out the light. It looked a dead place, he thought. As if life had gasped its last and the house was an empty shell, bereft of soul. He climbed the sweeping steps up to the large painted door, its surface green with the damp, and yanked the bell pull. It was stiff and in need of greasing, he thought. When there was no reply, he pulled again, more insistent, and beat at the door with his fist.
    In truth he wanted to turn and flee the place. So many emotions welled up that they threatened to choke him. He that had seen and endured so many horrors on the battlefield, now reduced to a weak-kneed wreck at the prospect of meeting his father again.
    His hand went to the bell pull, then he retracted it and was about to turn and leave when he heard the locks on the other side of the door being drawn. The door opened a fraction, the movement laborious, cautious almost. The head of an old man gazed out from the darkness, the heavily lined face inordinately pale as if it had been deprived of daylight for years, the hair white and hanging in tufts from a mottled scalp. The eyes narrowed into the tiniest of slits as the man studied the visitor. Then recognition seeped in to widen the eyes, and then gushed in flood-like causing the man’s almost toothless mouth to drop open.
    ‘Master Thomas?’ he said, his voice incredulous. ‘Is that really Master Thomas?’ The door widened and he came out.
    ‘It is. Mr Addison, you have changed little,’ he said.
    ‘Oh Master Thomas!’ said the man, clearly overjoyed. He darted forward and took Blackdown’s hand and pumped it up and down. ‘It has been so long!’ Then he remembered himself and stood back, standing as erect as his bent form would allow. He put his hands behind his back. ‘Forgive me, Master Thomas. I forget myself and my position. I am just so pleased to see you.’
    ‘And I am pleased to see that some things have not changed and that my father still retains your services. It is good to see you, Mr Addison.’
    Addison had been a dominant force in the house, commanding a veritable army of servants under his charge. He liked to run an efficient ship, he used to say, and was so good at his job that he’d been approached by many notables to leave the manor and come and work for them instead, but he maintained his loyalty was always to the Blackdowns and no amount of financial inducements or otherwise tempted him to abandon the family. Generations of Addisons had worked for the Blackdowns as far back as he could remember, he used to boast, and he always said he didn’t want to be the last.
    But the old man’s face changed perceptibly from joy to regret. ‘Do you wish to see your father?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes,’ said Blackdown.
    ‘Does he know of your coming?’
    Blackdown shook his head. ‘It will come as a surprise.’
    The old man seemed to struggle within himself. ‘Sir, it puts me in a most disagreeable position. The nature of your departure… Your father…’
    ‘Tell him I forced myself inside,’ he said, smiling, ‘if that worries you.’
    ‘Oh no, sir! I cannot do that! I respect you too much to say such a thing. Please, do come inside.’
    He stepped to one side and held open the door.
    The large marble-floored entrance hall was much the same as Thomas Blackdown remembered it. Cold and austere, portrait-lined walls, busts