Page 36 of The Stranger in Room Six
Frannie’s mother was sitting in a rocking chair, staring out of the window at the sea.
Mabel had a sinking feeling that something awful had happened. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked softly.
She shook her head. ‘Last night,’ she whispered, ‘my husband went out to get firewood and someone shot him dead.’
Mabel felt a cold shock flash through her. ‘Who?’
‘The police reckon it was a poacher.’
There was a noise as a pale figure came out of the bedroom that Frannie shared with her six brothers and sister.
‘My dad’s gone just like your mum,’ she said in tears. Together they held each other, rocking back and forth in grief.
Later that evening, enemy planes flew overhead. ‘They’re bombing Exeter again,’ said her aunt, standing at the window.
‘For gawd’s sake get under the table, madam,’ yelled Cook, pulling Mabel under with her. ‘There isn’t time to get to the shelter.’
‘I want to watch,’ retorted her aunt tightly.
Despite the danger, Mabel crawled out from under the table and put her arm around her aunt in comfort. ‘It will be all right,’ she said.
Her aunt didn’t stiffen the way she usually did when Mabel tried to show affection. ‘Thank you, dear,’ she said. ‘Do you know, I actually think you’re correct. With everyone’s help, the better side will win.’
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Mabel tried to comfort Frannie just as her friend had comforted her when she’d first arrived.
Yet, while Frannie’s father was dead, there was still a chance that Mabel’s papa could be alive. Mabel kept hugging this hope close to her heart, constantly asking God to make sure he was safe and promising him all kinds of things if he listened to her pleas. Always being polite to Aunt Clarissa; doing extra sums; folding her clothes more neatly at night. Yet at the same time, she felt so guilty because for Frannie, there was no hope.
At least the Colonel had organized for a tractor load of wood to be delivered to them so the fire didn’t go low.
‘It is very good of him,’ Frannie said dully. She had lost the sparkle in her voice. She didn’t even want to go swimming any more.
Mabel tried to throw herself into the war work. Before rationing made it difficult, Mama had taught her to bake cakes. Here, people had their own cows, so butter and milk were in plentiful supply. ‘Your cakes are delicious,’ the other women told her when she brought them down for a tea break during the camouflage netting sessions. ‘Your mum would be proud of you.’ Their praise made her feel both warm and sad.
Autumn was here, with blackberries bursting out on hedgerows. Mabel tried to coax Frannie into picking them with the other children after school, which her friend did, but without talking.
Mabel was beginning to enjoy the company of the other children more and more, though they were all so much better at arithmetic than she was. The teacher suggested that her aunt help her, but in truth, they both grappled with what Clarissa called ‘the complex mysteries of the times tables’. The eight and nine times were definitely their least favourite.
Mabel preferred to write what her aunt called ‘essays’ but which she saw as stories. One day she wrote about a little girl who woke up to find that her sister had disappeared.
‘Are you thinking about Annabel?’ asked her aunt with a softness she usually reserved for the Colonel.
Mabel nodded.
‘She’s not coming back, I’m afraid,’ said her aunt quietly. ‘And nor is my sister.’
In the past, Clarissa had always said ‘your mother’. Never ‘my sister’.
‘I know that now,’ whispered Mabel. ‘But Papa might.’
A tear ran down her aunt’s face. ‘Give me a minute will you, child?’
Mabel sought comfort in the kitchen with Cook. ‘We’ve got some pheasants left over from yesterday. Why don’t you take them down to Frannie’s mother this afternoon? They were from the Colonel’s shoot but I don’t reckon he’ll notice.’
Ugh! Holding them away from her, she made her way through the woods, past the cottage which Frannie had pointed out as the lacemaker’s home. Her friend’s words came back to her. ‘She can tell people’s futures.’ Was that her, digging up potatoes in the garden outside?
‘I can see you’re not enjoying that very much,’ the woman said, looking up from her task and nodding at the birds in Mabel’s hands. ‘You’re the girl from the big house, aren’tyou? My goodness, you look just like your mother did at your age.’
