rose miltons great adventure

Rose Miltons Great Adventure
Dawn broke over the eastern Solent, tingeing the few clouds with pink amidst the clear blue September sky. It was quite late in the morning, nearly seven. Throughout the night, Rose Milton had been watching for this moment and here it was, just as she remembered. Sunrise.
She was standing at the window in the room that had been hers for over ninety years, child and adult. Two sons were born in the bed that used to stand against that wall. She’d brought them up here, living with, and then caring for, her parents. Her husband and brother were both killed in the war.
The bulldozers would come at eight she’d been told, to demolish her home. Matron had informed her, as kindly as she could, that it was no longer fit for habitation. She could not return to it. ‘Respite’ they called it. Prison more like!
She waited until everyone had gone to sleep, then opened her patio door and crept out. She’d chosen this ground floor room originally so she could get into the care-home communal gardens easily. It had turned out to be a wise decision. Both her escape and walking here had been easier than she thought; now she was back in her very own home.
She wandered round to the front rooms, slowly entering each one and taking in what was left of its once glorious past. Empty now, she could hear the echoes of father talking with his business partners over the dinner table; smoking cigars with them on the veranda that ran all round the house, while they as children had sat here, upstairs, straining to hear their conversation.
She went slowly downstairs, remembering Christmases around the tree in the drawing room, and sitting over cups of tea in the main kitchen. It was a substantial house, built by her grandfather on profits made from importing goods from the east, China and India.
A sudden roaring drew her attention. Large machinery pulled into the front driveway, followed by a truck full of men in overalls and hard hats, Ryde Demolition emblazoned across the vehicles.
She wondered if the workmen would notice her moving from room to room so she stayed very still while they stood and looked up at the roof, deciding where to begin. As she retreated, keeping her eyes on the men all the time, one of them suddenly seemed to stare, very hard, right at her. Had she been seen? He looked familiar. She froze for what seemed like forever but eventually the man looked away and she continued her painstakingly slow progress out of these rooms to where she could move around with less risk of being seen. She would hide in the little hidden room that had been built into the design of the house, cleverly concealed behind a chimney breast, accessed from her fathers study. It was from this room that she would wait with him to watch his ships arriving with their precious cargoes. She made her way carefully there now, tiptoeing across the hallway and stopping to enjoy once more the wonderful patterned tiles that they had played on as children, all of them, her included. She crept up the first flight of stairs again, to the half landing. The geometric patterns from the huge stained glass window fell across her skin as she moved slowly past it, blues, greens and golden yellows. She shuddered as she felt Edward, her long-dead husband walking beside her now, as he had done every night when they retired to bed.
She made her way into the study, finding the little catch just under the mantle next to the old bell pull, and drew it back. The panel slid open as easily as ever it had. She stepped inside and found an undiscovered chinoiserie chair and table. She remembered these had been samples sent to Queen Victoria up at Osborne house by great Grandfather. Some books and a pile of candles and matches lay on the table. ‘Well I can just sit here and wait for them, I will go with the house and they will have to answer for their wickedness, letting the place get to such a state as they say it is, although it seems sound enough to me still’. She sat down on the little armchair and settled herself with a candle for light, dozing. It was quiet here, although she could hear people moving around the house.
‘No–one here George, must’ve been your imagination, how much did yer drink last noight.’
‘I was sure I saw summat moving.’
‘Seeing things are yer, I’d stay home tonight if I was yer.’
A peal of laughter followed from three or four male voices.
‘Right lets get cracking then, though don’t know why they wanna pull this grand old house down.’
‘Money, development, progress, that’s why; land here’s worth a packet for holiday apartments, that’s why we do most of these jobs.’
‘Crying shame,’ said George, ‘I used to do odd jobs here for old Rose Milton and her dad when I was a lad.’
The footsteps and voices receded, replaced by crashing noises as they began dismantling the roof and taking the walls down. Her hidey hole was against the central chimney column so would be the last to go.
Rose sat for what seemed eternity, her heart thudding as it had been for most of the last few hours, until she dozed, tired from all the excitement. Edward had come to keep her company. She saw him clearly now. It seemed natural that he’d be here, keeping her company.
At five, George, left with a lingering feeling he could not quite put his finger on, decided to visit her. ‘Can I visit Rose Milton’, he asked reception.
The receptionist looked at him with curiosity, hesitant. ‘I am sorry sir, she passed away last night, around 1 a.m. we think, died peacefully in her sleep. Strangely though, she’d left her bedroom window wide open…