A red rose on a cold stone step - a short story by Aileen Cleave

 The symbolism eluded her at first:  a blood red rose lying on the white stone step.  

How had it come to be there?  Was it significant or simply happen chance?

She stooped slowly, painfully to pick it up, taking great care to avoid the vicious-looking thorns protruding from the stem.  The flower was fully open, and the sudden movement caused several of the outer petals to fall, drifting stubbornly down to the stone step as though returning home.

“Elinor, Elinor!”  An uncanny silence was the only response.  Irritation started to rise, followed immediately by a foreboding.  Elinor was always to hand, always within earshot.  Much younger than her usual housemaids, Elinor had appeared almost out of the blue, but with impeccable timing and similarly impeccable references. She had proved to be quite a find, hardworking, diligent and discreet, and with no family within 25 miles, she wasn’t always “popping” into the village to visit various friends or relatives.

But where was she now?   She made her way across the hall into the library, then realised she would have to make her  tea herself.  She retraced her steps into the kitchen. Quite suddenly, the silence seemed ominous, and she was conscious of an unpleasant tingling sensation at the back of her neck.  That feeling of foreboding returned.  Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself sharply.  She stopped suddenly, her heart seemingly trapped in her throat.  On the kitchen table in front of her was a flower vase and in it was one lone white rose, overblown and with several petals already fallen.  That had not been there when she left the house this morning to go to the library.

“Elinor” she called again, this time with something more of a tremor in her voice.  Her gaze fell on the stone flags of the kitchen floor and there, creating a distinctive trail towards the cellar door were the bruised petals of a white rose.  Dare she follow the trail and descend the steps into the cellar?  She suddenly felt angry.  This is silly, she admonished herself, of course she would follow the trail into the cellar.  Elinor might have hurt herself and be lying there unconscious.  The memory of the red rose came to mind.  She blinked hard and dismissed it.  She turned towards the cellar door and started to walk purposefully towards it.

Her hand was actually on the door latch when the strident sound of the telephone halted her. She almost jumped a foot into the air with shock, then stood for a few seconds till her heart stopped pounding.  Suddenly it was imperative she reached the phone in the hall before it stopped.  

“Putney 3476”

Was that her voice?  It sounded so strained

“Miss Roberts?”

A male voice, rough and unfamiliar.

“Yes, this is she”.

“Don’t go into the cellar, do you understand me?  Do not go into the cellar”.

“Why not?  And who is this?”

There was a click and the phone went dead.

To be continued..

Sent from my iPad